


Stunning Shifts

by mindcandy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Dimension Travel, Gen, HP: EWE, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 93,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindcandy/pseuds/mindcandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a publicity stunt, Harry and 5 others are sent to another world where a well timed Stupefy made all the difference. As Harry looks for his peers and a way home, another Harry investigates the odd arrival of his doppelganger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 14th of April, 1980

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This is nothing ground-breaking--it's just another good ole fashioned Harry gets pulled to another world fic. If that's your cup of tea, I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> This story is also posted on ff.net 
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing in this story belongs to me. I'm just playing in Rowling's world because it's fun and helps reduce my stress levels. :)

If someone would have told Severus that the old barman standing before him would soon cast the spell which would alter the course of the world, he would have laughed—or at the very least, rolled his eyes.

World altering events didn't happen in dilapidated bars. World altering events involved powerful wizards and not someone like this barman.

To Severus, this was just another night; world altering events would come later.

"What will it be?"

Severus internally sighed at the barman's request.  He was on a mission and truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted it to succeed or not.  Choosing between a year of Dumbledore and the Dark Lord’s merciless disapproval was turning out to be a rather difficult choice. But either way, he needed a drink and a strong one at that.  "A glass of Boniface," he answered.

The barman cocked a thick grey eyebrow at him, but thankfully said nothing. He then pulled a glass from underneath the bar and set it in front of Severus with a loud  _clunk_. "That will be fifteen sickles."

"Fifteen sickles?" Severus repeated. Was this man out of his mind?

"That's the going rate for suspicious sorts who wander into my bar," the barman answered unconcerned.

"And how has anything I've done suspicious?"

The barman snorted. "Look kid, you come in on a wet night like this and order the strongest wine known to wizarding kind and you get labeled suspicious."

"I'm meeting someone here," Severus said tersely.

"Which makes you even more suspicious and gives you a genuine reason not to piss me off, so what's it going to be? Fifteen sickles or that door you just came through and never coming back?"

Severus glanced at the door, tempted. Every fiber of his being wanted to leave. He didn't want to teach snot nose brats. He didn't want to live right underneath Dumbledore's nose for a year. Every part of his mission made him cringe with dread, but he also knew the Dark Lord needed him. To fail meant more than just a torture session, to fail would mean losing the Dark Lord's first rare opportunity to plant a spy inside of Hogwarts—an opportunity to finally bring down Dumbledore.

Severus had to stay. He had no choice.

Resignedly, he reached inside his robes for his small sack of coins. "I suppose I couldn't order another drink?" he tried.

"Of course," the barman replied, “but the going rate is the same."

Severus rolled his eyes, then fished out fifteen sickles and slid them across the bar. Satisfied, the barman flicked his wand towards the glass sitting between them and it began filling itself with deep red wine. Severus wrapped his hand around the glass and waited for the barman to turn away before he took a much needed drink, but the barman never did. He just stood there, staring at him in a way that was both unnerving and eerily familiar.

"What?" Severus said, bristling.

The barman shrugged, picked up dirty glass a previous patron had left on the bar, and began scrubbing it with a dirty rag he kept hanging from his front pocket. Scowling, Severus threw back a gulp of wine. He could easily get up and sit in a booth away from the bar, but he found himself too annoyed to care. "I'm meeting Headmaster Dumbledore here for an interview," he said sourly. "Happy now?"

The barman snorted and shook his head causing Severus to bristle again, but his words made Severus have a completely different reaction. "Another one, eh?"

"Yes, I've— _What_?"

The barman's lips twitched. "Another one," he repeated, jerking his head towards the stairway. "Albus is already here doing an interview. Funny he's not done already. He's been up there for a bit."

Severus blinked, words failing him because this was all wrong. There wasn't supposed to  _be_  another interview. Severus was supposed to be the only one.

"Tough luck, kid. I suspect you'll just have to wait down here for him." And without waiting for a reply, the barman turned away.

Severus took a long swig from his glass, trying to ease the panic that was now rising in his chest. When the Dark Lord had given him his mission, he had thought he hadn't heard right—him, Severus, a  _professor_? Dumbledore may have been insane, but the man wasn't brainless. Why would he ever hire Severus for a teaching position at Hogwarts? But the Dark Lord had been confident. Dumbledore had been unable to keep a Defense professor for more than a year for the past decade. There were ridiculous rumors circulating that the position was jinxed and Dumbledore was beginning to have difficulties finding replacements. The Dark Lord had assured Severus that he would be the only applicant—that Dumbledore would have no choice but to hire him.

The Dark Lord, however, had been wrong. There was someone else—someone who was probably older and more qualified and  _not_  a former Slytherin…

Severus didn't stand a chance…

Suddenly a bubble of rage burst inside of him. No matter how much he didn't want to do this, this was supposed to be his chance to prove his worth as a Death Eater. The power the Dark Lord would grant him if he were to succeed would be unimaginable. Who had ruined this for him? Who had slipped beneath the Dark Lord's reach and secured an interview?

He had to know.

Severus threw back the rest of his wine and glanced around for the barman—he was distracted, currently talking to a hooded patron on the other side of the bar. And so in a rare moment of impulsiveness, Severus slid off his bar stool and sneaked up the back stairs. He then crept down the upstairs hall, listening carefully at each numbered door. All was silent until he came to the door marked with a large number nine. Muffled voices could be heard coming from the room. Smiling triumphantly, he knelt down and placed his left ear against the keyhole. A woman's quavering voice met his ears.

"…for us these days. The wizarding world has always persecuted those who have the ability to See. It is, alas, our Fate."

"I understand, my dear," Dumbledore's unmistakable voice answered, "but you must agree that the Art of Divination…"

' _Divination?'_  Severus thought, taken aback. He inched his ear closer to the keyhole, hope blossoming in his chest.  

"…for students. I’ve been toying with the idea of eliminating the subject from the Hogwarts curriculum for years."

"Oh but I wish you'd reconsider," the woman said. "It is the only way to broaden the minds of generations to come!"

"I understand your concerns," Dumbledore said as Severus suppressed a snort. "And I assure you that I will keep you in mind if the Board of Governors and I decide to keep offering Divination to Hogwarts' students."

"Very well," was the woman’s indignant reply. “I, of course, had foreseen this coming, but had hoped I was wrong.”

"Of course, but regardless, it has been a pleasure meeting you.”

Relief coursed through Severus as a chair scraped along the wooden floor inside the room. He had nothing to fear after all—he was still the only applicant. He hastened himself to stand, but stilled a moment later when he heard Dumbledore's voice again.

"Miss Trelawney?"

His voice was laced with concern and his words were followed by silence. Curious, Severus placed his ear back against the keyhole.  He could hear the quiet sound of tentative footsteps, but nothing more.

“My dear?” Dumbledore tried again. “Is everything alright?”

Then there were more footsteps, from where Severus didn’t care, he was suddenly too distracted by the deep, harsh breathing now coming from the room. All sense of his surroundings became lost when a loud hoarse voice filled his ears.

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH…THE DARK LORD…APPROACHES…"

Severus gasped. This woman was making a prophecy—a real prophecy about the Dark Lord! He could hardly dare believe it. He held his breath waiting for her to continue. She had resumed the deep harsh breathing of before, but surely there was more to it…

"Yes, my dear?" Dumbledore coaxed.

Severus leaned into the door to hear her words, but he never would. The very thing he would have never believed happened at that very moment. He barely registered a flash of red light before blackness engulfed him and he hit the floor with a loud  _thud_.


	2. Real Hero

"…THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…"

With one last harsh breath, Sibyl Trelawney's young translucent form swirled into the silver fluid of the pensieve. Albus Dumbledore watched the descending figure and let out a long sigh.

The prophecy.

It had once been his source of hope—a breath of life during dark times—but it had proved to be nothing but fruitless. Nineteen years had passed since his meeting with Miss Trelawney in that small room above the Hog's Head and Lord Voldemort still remained. Albus feared it would not be long before the entire wizarding world would be irrevocably changed.

He had dismissed the prophecy years ago, convincing himself it was worthless. That time had been wasted dwelling on it. That it was not the answer in defeating Voldemort. And yet, when he was feeling particularly hopeless, as he currently was, he found himself drawn to the prophecy made so long ago, marveling at the idea that someone was—no,  _could have been_  destined to destroy Tom Riddle. It was times like these that he found himself carefully watching Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom before he realized neither of these boys had been tied to any destiny…

The prophecy was worthless, he had to remember that. But he still couldn't help but hope for a savior, a chosen one who was destined to save them all.

"Where are you?" Albus murmured.

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

In another—yet familiar—world, Harry Potter was questioning his sanity.

He should have known this was going to be a bad idea—scratch that, he  _had_  known. He had just chosen to ignore the knowledge and now that a headache was forming he was beginning to regret it.

"Remind me again why you’re doing this, Potter."

Harry stared at his former school rival. Why  _was_  Harry doing this? Something Dumbledore had said?—Choosing between right and easy? Yes, that was it…

"Because he's an idiot."

Or that. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

"Sod off, Ron," Harry quipped, looking around at the five others who surrounded him. "You lot know ruddy well why I'm doing this."

The group consisted of Harry's two best friends, one Luna Lovegood, and two former Slytherins. They were sitting around a front row table outside Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. It was a table Harry had adamantly avoided when he visited the parlor before his third year. Anyone who would have walked down Diagon Alley would have been sure to see him, but now Harry  _wanted_  to be seen. What good was a publicity stunt if it was done in the privacy of a dark corner?

“Ah, that’s right,” Draco Malfoy drawled. “Your golden boy sensibilities have you convinced you can change the wizarding world in the blink of an eye. How could I forget?”

Harry rolled his eyes at the familiar insult. If only it could be so easy.

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Blaise Zabini muttered. He slouched down into his seat as a group of curious witches passed by.

Next to Harry, Hermione shared a look of obvious irritation with Ron. "If you two want to be shunned for the rest of your lives,” she said, “be my guest."

"Hermione…" Harry started.

"What? It's true."

"Don't get your robes in a twist, Granger," Zabini said lazily. "Draco and I are just not use to all this public attention."

"Speak for yourself, Zabini."

"Fine. _I’m_ not used to this public attention. Draco, here, is not familiar with public adoration."

"This is hardly adoration," Malfoy scoffed. "Half of the people passing by look ready to hex us."

It was true. While the group was attracting a few curious glances, most people were just looking at them suspiciously. Yet instead of dampening Harry's spirits the suspicion fueled his cause. "Exactly," he said with conviction. "This is why this needs to be done."

Zabini slouched further down into his chair and groaned. "Why must you be so…optimistic?”

“Trust me,” Ron snorted. “It’s better than the alternative.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but otherwise decided to ignore the two comments. Someone needed a positive outlook on life and surprisingly it had been him for the last year. Having the piece of Voldemort's soul removed had been an instant mood lifter. His friends had been thrilled…for the most part.

"Oooooh look!" Luna chimed in with wide eyes. "That man over there is taking pictures of us."

Harry turned and saw a man pointing a camera in their direction. A moment later, a cloud of purple smoke appeared, indicating that a picture had been taken. "That's the point, Luna," he said, grinning. "Now we just need to look like we’re getting along."

"Is it not enough we’re eating ice cream together?" Zabini said bemused. "This practically screams friendship."

"It might help if you looked like you were actually enjoying yourself," Harry said lightly. "And it probably wouldn't hurt if Ron and Malfoy stopped glaring at each other." He kicked Ron underneath the table for good measure.

"Ow!” Ron cried, “okay, okay!"

Malfoy began to snigger, but immediately stopped when Harry shot him a look. "Old habits die hard,” he said, shrugging.

_‘If not at all,’_  Harry thought dryly.

"Seriously Potter," Zabini said, eyeing another group of passersby. "I don't think this is going to work. Hogwarts was one thing, but…”

“But what?” Harry challenged tiredly. They had been over this a hundred times already. “I’m telling you it will work. It worked before and it will work again.”

Zabini didn’t say anything; he only exchanged a skeptical look with Malfoy, Ron, and Hermione. A surge of annoyance shot through Harry and his patience snapped.

“Oh come on!” he said. “If I would have known defeating Voldemort would change nothing—“

"Then you wouldn't have bothered coming back," Hermione said over him, reciting his thoughts perfectly. "We know, Harry. We all remember."

“The problem is in the forgetting really,” Ron said, and when Harry glared at him, he shrugged. “Sorry mate, but I’ve heard that speech at least fifty times.”

"Speaking of your little speech," Malfoy said. "Are you ever going to bother telling us what it means? Because it still sounds as if you're claiming you  _died."_

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Harry muttered underneath his breath. Not this again.

It was one of those things Harry had regretted saying and leave it to Hermione to recite his words perfectly. 'His speech' had been originally given well into October last year, when Harry's frustrations had been running at an all time high. The first few weeks of his 'eighth' year had been unbearable. First and second years followed him around in hordes. People constantly stared at him. The Slytherins were being hexed and isolated by the rest of the student body. And in turn, the Slytherins were nasty to everyone else…

Nothing had changed.

His efforts against Voldemort had seemed so pointless. Yes, he had known future lives had been saved, but normal everyday life at Hogwarts had felt the same. Harry had become sullen and irritable until, one day, it hit him. Voldemort's defeat could only change so much. Real change came from something else entirely.

So after much thought and a rather lengthy chat with the Sorting Hat, Harry crossed the Great Hall and had dinner at the Slytherin table. It was a few weeks later, when a tentative alliance had been formed between the returning eighth years, that Harry had spoken those words out of frustration. No one seemed to understand why he was so adamant that everyone got along, that their example would encourage their younger peers to do the same.

He had thought his words had been played out nicely, but Malfoy had jumped to conclusions…which happened to be the truth and Harry had not dared shared it with anyone besides Ron or Hermione. He didn't think the whole 'I was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes and came back from the dead' thing would go over well. It had stayed a secret among the trio, but Malfoy had remained annoyingly curious...

"Don't be thick," Ron said, coming to Harry's rescue. "Of course Harry didn't die. We all know he meant returning to Hogwarts."

"Or so he says," Malfoy said.

"Well I'm clearly alive," Harry said mildly. "Besides, that is hardly the point."

"I think it's an excellent point," Zabini said. "You want us to play mates, but you have yet to regale us with your heroic tale."

"And it won't be done today," Harry said glibly. ' _Or ever_ ,' he mentally added. The two Slytherins knew the basics and as far as he was concerned, that was good enough.

"You can't keep it a secret forever."

"Try me."

"Come on, Potter," Malfoy whined. "I thought  _allies_  shared secrets or at least how one survives a Killing Curse."

"Here we go again," said Harry, exhaling loudly. "I already told you, I didn't—“

"Don't tell me you didn't! My own mother and father saw it with their own eyes. That spell  _hit_ you square in the chest!"

"Look," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The point of today is not to discuss the logistics of something I once said or how I may or may not have survived some spell. The point of today is to demonstrate to the wider wizarding world that civil relationships can be formed regardless of past histories and beliefs."

"And we are doing a fantastic job of it," Hermione said sarcastically.

Harry frowned slightly. They  _had_  done a fantastic job of it. Despite a rocky start, their efforts had been a relative success at Hogwarts. He had actually been shocked when so many of the group seemed resistant to the idea of publicly hanging out outside of Hogwarts. There was a reason the group today only consisted of six people rather than the usual twenty something.

"We can do this," Harry said firmly. "I know it was easier at Hogwarts when no one but the younger students were looking at us, but we have least got to try."

"Of course we'll try," Luna said. "That's why we're here. We just want to make sure you understand it’s going to more difficult out here. The Wrackspurts are everywhere, after all.”

"I—what?"

"Wrackspurts," Luna repeated. "I’ve told you about them before.  The wards around Hogwarts help guard against them so they don’t interfere with our learning too much, but out here, they’re everywhere. It will just take longer to get through to everyone.”

Harry stared at Luna for a moment and then he couldn't help it, he grinned. He had long ago decided that Luna may have a point with her odd views. "Of course," he said, ignoring the exchanged looks between the other four. "Wrackspurts—that makes sense."

Luna smiled encouragingly at him.

"Right, so that just means there is more work to be done," Harry said. "So are you lot going to help me or not?" He looked pointedly at everyone but Luna.

Hermione and Ron muttered, "Of course," Zabini nodded his head once, and Malfoy just sighed, "Anything for the chosen one."

And despite the sarcasm, Harry was grateful. "Wonderful then.”

But no one else seemed to share his sentiments. Ron and Hermione shared yet another look, Malfoy rolled his eyes, Zabini took his turn to sigh, and Luna was looking at him with a cocked head. The group fell into a silence and Harry couldn't help but wonder if Ron was right.

Maybe he really was an idiot.

But was it really too much to ask for civility? Harry wasn't dimwitted enough to believe everyone would make up and hug after the war, but he could barely stomach blind prejudices. Not against Muggles and Muggleborns, nor against Purebloods and Slytherins.

Harry may be an idiot, but he knew what he was doing was  _right_ …

"So why'd you go see George this morning?" Ron asked, bringing Harry out of his thoughts.

"Oh, uh—what?" Harry started, caught off guard. He routinely met up with George for business reasons, but it was to be kept a secret from the rest of the Weasleys, including Ron. It was his stipulation for his continued investment in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "How’d you know about that?"

Ron shrugged. "Mum said so. You know how she checks on him."

"Right. Of course. I was just there for some bruise remover…That’s all."

Ron seemed pacified, but out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy and Zabini exchange a smirk. Harry no longer had only Hermione to fool; he now had a slew of Slytherins that were quite deft at catching him in a lie. There were others, of course, like Ginny, Luna, and Neville, but they tended to confront Harry privately or in Luna's case, not at all. Come to think of it, Ron wasn't even as oblivious as he used to be…

Harry took a bite of ice cream, hoping the conversation would go else where, but knew he wouldn’t be so lucky when he saw Hermione’s expression.

"Harry Potter," she said. "If you’re keeping something from us, I swear to—“

"I'm not!" Harry said indignantly.

"Yes and my name’s Neville Longbottom," Malfoy drawled, amused.

"No, it's not," Luna said.

"It was a joke, Luna," Hermione explained impatiently.

"Am I not allowed to joke back?"

Ron chuckled and Harry couldn't help but grin as Hermione crossed her arms and pursed her lips. His grin faltered when she suddenly glared at him. "I swear Harry. You’re becoming worse than Dumbledore."

"What!" He sputtered out. He was not!

"Merlin, let's hope not," Ron said.

"And for once I agree with a Weasley," Malfoy said, shuttering.

Harry rolled his eyes despite his previous indignation. “For once? You say that _every_ time you agree with Ron—oh get over it," he added when both Ron and Malfoy gave him horrified looks. "You two agree all of the time."

"I have no idea what you’re talking about, Potter."

"Nor do I," Ron added, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"So you both agree that you have no idea what I'm talking about?" Harry asked innocently.

Ron and Malfoy glared at him. "I'm not falling for that one again," Ron grumbled.

"Shame."

Hermione was shaking her head in amusement. "This is exactly what I'm talking about Harry. You are turning into Dumbledore."

"I am not!"

"You know, Granger. I think you're on to something," Zabini said thoughtfully. "The secrets for one..."

"What secrets?" Harry said in exasperation. “There are no secrets!”

"Speaking in riddles..." Ron added.

"When? Name one time!"

"Playing games so everyone gets along..." Malfoy said, his eyes still narrowed.

"One time— _one_  time—that hardly counts!"

"And the Wrackspurts," Luna said cheerfully.

"Well I don't know about that one," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"You lot are off your rockers,” Harry shot back. “I'm _nothing_ like Dumbledore," He said it because it was true, but the others were just looking at him with arched brows, including Luna who didn't even  _have_  eyebrows. He didn't know whether he should be offended or…

"Well I'm not," he mumbled.

The group exchanged yet another look, but Harry barely caught it before his attention was grabbed by something else—a flash a flames in his periphery. He automatically turned towards it and saw a phoenix perched on the roof of Fortescue's. "Fawkes!" he called out, surprised and delighted.

"Of course,” Hermione said, “how did we forget Fawkes?"

"No clue," Ron replied, “but we'll add him to the list."

"There is no list," Harry told the group before turning around and yelling, "Fawkes!" once more. While Harry wouldn't claim Fawkes was his pet, the phoenix did seem to spend an extraordinary amount of time with him. He had recently purchased a perch for Grimmauld Place for the bird to use when he visited. It had been a few days since Harry had seen him, however.

Fawkes let out a melodic cry, expanded his wings, and glided towards the group. Harry smiled fondly as he watched Fawkes fly towards him, until he was startled by cries of panic.

"POTTER!"

"HARRY!"

"Wha—“Harry started in alarm, but the words died in his throat the moment he turned around. A ball of blinding light was expanding from the middle of the table and before he had a chance to react—to even think—the light engulfed him and he was falling—not the short distance to the ground, but through an endless sky with the sounds of panic fading away. It ended only moments later when Harry landed with soft  _thud._


	3. Challenged Memories

Harry didn't know where he was, but he knew he was no longer at Fortescue's. The sweet smell of ice cream was gone, his friend's outcries could no longer be heard, and as he lay on the ground still surrounded by light, he felt wooden planks beneath his finger tips rather than the cobblestone he would have expected.

Then the bright light vanished and Harry was left in dimness—dimness that felt incredibly familiar and as he sat up and adjusted his eyes to the new light, he realized why.

He was back at Grimmauld Place, sitting on his kitchen floor.

Except… something felt a bit off about it.  Perhaps it was just the lighting, but the place didn’t look as clean as Harry remembered leaving it.  Not that he minded. Kreacher was the one who kept the house spotless despite Harry's encouragement and Hermione's pleas for him to rest. If Harry had thought the elf had turned a new leaf after giving him Regulus's fake locket, it was nothing in comparison to how the elf acted after hearing that the trio had managed to destroy the actual locket. Dust no longer existed in Grimmauld Place. Not that the kitchen looked dusty, it just wasn't as…shiny. Perhaps Kreacher had finally decided to slow down…

But wait, why was Harry even here? Obviously that bright light had brought him here, but what had that even been? And what had happened to everyone else?

Frowning in thought, Harry stood. He was absently brushing the dirt off his robes when something caught his eye—a large red feather.

"Fawkes," Harry murmured.

He reached down for the feather, now deeper in thought. Had Fawkes brought him here? It was possible, he reckoned. He knew phoenixes could transport people—he had seen Dumbledore do it himself—and Fawkes  _had_  been flying towards him just moments before. But if that were the case, where was Fawkes now? And why would Fawkes send him back home in the first place?

Remembering that Dumbledore used Fawkes' feathers to communicate, he examined the red plume, but found it free of any messages. Perhaps the feather had been there all along, since Fawkes' previous visit…

But no, that couldn't be right. He looked around, hoping for more clues, and a chill of unease went up his spine. There were more differences now that he hadn’t been able to see from the ground. The kitchen table and its benches were longer, the curtain over the window was black rather than its usual dark green, there were several dishes in the sink that Harry knew he hadn’t used, let alone left in the sink…

These differences…and disappearing from Diagon, something was clearly wrong. He slipped the red plume in his expanded moleskin pouch that always hung around his neck and pulled out his wand.

" _Homenum Revelio,_ " he said, flicking his wand towards the stairs, but nothing happened.

He was alone…

And of course he was, not just anyone could come into his home. These new curtains and the dishes and the table, they had to be Kreacher's doing. That was the only logical explanation. He'd ask Kreacher about it later. Right now he needed to get back to his friends.

He had to make sure everyone was okay.

Gripping his wand, he closed his eyes and prepared for Apparition, but a loud _whoosh_ and a tint of green distracted him from doing so.

Someone was coming through his Floo.

Curious, Harry opened his eyes. He desperately hoped for Ron or Hermione, but it was immediately obvious that it wasn’t either of them. Stepping out of the green flames was a lone man Harry had never seen before. He was tall and well built with dark hair that was swept back and gathered in a low ponytail, a loose strand fell across his face.

Harry lifted his wand then, knowing he should dosomething—to  _say_  something at the very least—but he couldn't. For some inexplicable reason, this man felt incredibly familiar to him and as the seconds ticked by, the more this sense of familiarity increased. Harry could only watch as this man casually brushed the soot from his robes, seemingly unconcerned.

How was this man here? Only a handful of people were allowed access through Harry's Floo and this man was obviously not one of them no matter how familiar he felt. Was the Floo system not working properly? It was the only thing he could come up with because this man didn't seem to be any sort of threat. Hell, this man didn't even seem to realize that he had currently Flooed somewhere he ought not to be. He was completely oblivious.

"Uh…” Harry started carefully, not wanting to startle this person, “Hello?”

But the man jumped anyway and looked up in surprise. Then their eyes caught and Harry instantly froze—his mind went completely blank—because he finally recognized this man fully.

It was Sirius, Harry's very dead godfather.

Sirius though seemed to have no qualms with Harry. He was sighing in relief and giving Harry a quizzical grin. "Merlin, Harry. You scared me. What are you doing here?"

Harry blinked and he knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. Hell, he could hardly even breathe.

It was Sirius _—_ he even sounded like Sirius, grinned like Sirius—but no, it couldn't be. Sirius was dead.

And this man was clearly alive and healthier than Harry had ever seen Sirius. No wonder he hadn't recognized him at first, gone were the waxy features, the unkempt hair, the frail frame. Had this man even seen Azkaban? His grey eyes lacked the haunted quality Harry had known so well—No. What was he thinking? This man couldn't be Sirius. Sirius was  _dead_.

Dead because of Harry…

This was a dream—a hallucination—a—

"Harry?" Sirius—no,  _the man_ asked, sounding concerned. Then he chuckled and the sound was so wonderful to Harry's ears. He had only heard it a handful of times. " _What_ in Merlin's name are you wearing? Those glasses are a riot."

Harry blinked once, twice, not trusting himself to speak. This  _had_  to be some sort of hallucination…or an impostor, maybe?—no, that couldn’t be right. Only a handful of people could come through his Floo and none of them would play this cruel joke on him.

This was something else.

"Harry?" the man said again, but more sharply this time. He took a step forwards causing Harry to startle out of his frozen state and stagger backwards, but the man didn’t seem to notice or care. He continued his approach. "What is wrong with you, pup?"

_Pup?_ Sirius had  _never_  called him that. Ever.

"Just go away," Harry croaked out as he edged around table.

The man stopped and frowned as Harry continued to firmly plant the table between them. Then another  _whoosh_  sounded through the kitchen and the room tinted green again. The Sirius look alike glanced towards the fireplace and sighed in relief.

"Sorry. I got caught up with—Harry!" another familiar voice cried out in surprise. Harry didn't even have to look towards the fireplace to know Remus Lupin—or someone who looked and sounded like Remus Lupin—had emerged from the green flames.

Harry growled in frustration. What the hell was going on? "Who's next?" he said angrily. "Dumbledore? My mum and dad?"

"No," the Lupin look alike said, confused. "They aren't coming until tonight. What are you doing here so soon?"

_So soon?_ Harry stared at Lupin. He too looked more vibrant than Harry’s memory of him. He was watching Harry with an inquisitive brow and Harry wondered just how many times he had seen that exact expression on the real Lupin…

But this was getting out of hand. Why was Harry the only one concerned he was in the company of two  _dead_  people? Unless, wait—had he died? Had that bright light killed him? Harry hastily pulled up his left sleeve and glanced at his hand. The words,  _I must not tell lies_ , were still there. He wasn't dead if his previous experience with death was anything to go by. This was still something else.

"Harry? Did you hear me? What are you doing here? The Order meeting's not 'til tonight."

"Something's wrong with him, Remus," Sirius said. He then began making his way around the table again and Harry started, resuming his stagger backwards.

“No—please,” Harry said with his wand raised. “Please just stay where you are.” He didn’t trust himself to be near anything or anyone who resembled his godfather—or Lupin, for that matter. He just needed space to _think_.

But Sirius didn't stop.  The gap between them was quickly closing and Harry felt panic bubbling in his stomach. “Please,” he begged. “Please just stop.”

“Stop _what_?” Sirius said, throwing his arms up in frustration. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on!”

“And I don’t bloody know what’s going on! Just stay away from me!”

Sirius froze, now only a couple of arms lengths away, and held up his hands. "Okay," he said, exchanging a look with Lupin. "I'm just trying to help you."

"Just tell us what happened, Harry," Lupin urged.

Harry looked between the two men. He felt so confused and angry and he hadn’t felt this uncertain in such a long time. These men looked so real—Harry could practically feel their concern rolling off of them. And while every instinct was telling him to hex them to pieces, another part of him was fighting an overwhelming urge to embrace them.

He had to figure out what was going on and a small hopeful part of him wondered if there was any chance these two men could actually be real…

It was impossible… wasn't it?

Harry had already ruled out death, but he also knew there was no way they could be impostors. Grimmauld Place was heavily warded and he was fairly certain Polyjuice didn't allow people to impersonate the dead—he'd have to ask Hermione to be sure. But even if these men  _were_  Sirius and Remus, neither of them would be allowed access through Harry’s wards anyway because they had both been  _dead_  when he had them activated.

So if both of these men were who Harry wanted them to be  _and_  they could pass through the wards that would mean what?

Time travel?

Merlin, Harry hoped not. If Sirius was here that would mean at least what?—Four years? It would explain the different kitchen, though Harry swore it had been dirtier than this back in his fifth year…And Sirius had called him  _pup_  and both of these men looked far too healthy to be living in 1995…

"Just go away," he said, deciding these two could only be figments of his very hopeful and desperate imagination. Maybe that light had addled his mind. There was no other explanation. "Please, just go away."

"What—Harry? Seriously, what's the matter with you?" Sirius said, stepping towards him again. "Did they have you test out some new potion? A spell?"

Harry adamantly shook his head and backed away from Sirius, but then he realized Remus was coming in from the other side. He would soon be trapped and he knew what would come next. They would try to capture him.

Hallucinations couldn't actually capture people, right?

But he had little time to dwell on it.

Instincts kicked in when a jet of red light burst from the end of Remus's wand. Harry slashed his wand upwards and a shimmering gold shield erected around him, barely flickering when the stream of red light ricocheted off of it. Remus's spell crashed into the cabinetry across the room. Broken dishes tumbled to the floor, but this went unnoticed.

Remus and Sirius were both staring at Harry with their mouths hanging open. And Harry, unsure of what to do or what was going on, took one last look at them and Apparated away.

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

Meanwhile, in another part of the city, Harry Potter slung his work bag over his shoulder, pushed his square rimmed spectacles up his nose, and bolted out the front door towards the nearest alleyway. He was running late—incredibly late when he factored in the things he still had to do...

_'Will power…Slug and Jitters, Gringotts, Eeylops, Twilfitt and Tatting's…_ _Hard-headed_ _…'_

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of his work as he mentally recited his errand list.

_'Slug and Jitters, Gringotts, Eeylops, Twilfitt and Tatting's..._ _Effort_ _...'_

He glanced down at his watch—and bugger it all, his mum was going to  _murder_  him. He received an earful the last time he was late and tonight he was going to be even later. He'd be doing just bloody fine if there wasn't that ruddy Order meeting tonight—a meeting that was going to be, without a doubt, worthless.

_‘Gringotts—No, Slug and Jitters, Gringotts…_ _Lack of Control_ _…Eeylops, Twilfitt and Tatting's…_ _Puppet_ _…’_

Merlin, he hated this, running errands for his mum after work. Somehow it had become his job, one that his father had gladly passed off to him.

_‘_ _No responsibilities_ _…Slug and Jitters, Gringotts, Twilfitt and Tatting's…_ _Distracted_ _…’_

He ran the final few steps to an alleyway, crouched down behind a rubbish bin, and Apparated away. When he arrived at his destination, he pivoted and resumed his quickened pace, hardly noticing when he ran into someone. 

"Oi! Watch where yer going."

"Sorry," Harry muttered out, edging around the man. He made his way to the back door of the Leaky Cauldron, wondering not for the first time why there was a table right by the Apparition point. He was always colliding into people. Then again, he did need to start paying closer attention; his mum was always saying his head was in the clouds...

_‘_ _Peace_ _…Slug and Jitters, Eeylops, Twilfitt and Tatting's…_ _Resistance_ _…’_

People passed him, happy and unaware, as he strode down Diagon Alley. He wondered if they knew. Were they aware that their world was crumbling around them? Would they even care?

Sometimes he wished he didn't care—that he didn't know. It would be so much easier to live in obliviousness…

_‘_ _Resistance_ _…Eeylops, Gringotts, Slug and Jitters…_ _Trance_ _…’_

"Potter!"

Hearing his name jolted him from his thoughts. He slowed his pace and looked around for familiar faces. There were people passing him along the path and several more sitting outside of Fortescue’s, but no one stood out to Harry…

"Potter!"

Then Harry saw him. It was a former school mate—a Slytherin—and he was looking directly at Harry as he stood from his seat. Harry was more than a little surprised; he had never spoken more than ten words with—what was this guy's name?

"Potter,” the bloke said again as he approached. “It took you long enough. What in Salazar's name is—“

Then the bloke, whoever he was, stopped dead in his tracks, still a good distance away. His mouth dropped open as he stared, clearly caught off guard. His dark eyes traveled to Harry's robes, his boots, his bag, his hair, before finally settling on his face.

' _Zabini_ ,' Harry thought as they locked eyes. This guy was Zabini, a former Slytherin in Harry's year. A stuck up prat if Harry remembered correctly.

"Was there something you wanted?" Harry said, closing the gap between them.

"I…“ Zabini started, but then he clicked his mouth shut. His eyes flicked to Harry's forehead and he cleared his throat. "My apologies,” he muttered, “Wrong person." Then he was pushing past Harry and striding down the street before Harry could even speak.

' _What the hell?'_ Harry thought, bemused. He had never taken Zabini as the awkward sort, but that had been both awkward and bizarre. He had to figure this out. He spun around and began to chase after his former classmate.

"Wait!" he called out. "Zabini!"

But Zabini didn’t stop or look back and somewhere in the back of Harry’s head he heard a voice telling him to leave it. He had things to do and he was already running late, but curiosity fueled him. Why had Zabini called after him? And why was he now running away? There was no need to run if it had been an honest mistake…right?

"Zabini!" he yelled out again, pushing past people. 

And when Zabini still didn’t look back, Harry quickened his steps and pulled out his wand. They were nearing Knockturn Alley and the crowd was thinning.  Harry took careful aim and thought, ' _Impedimenta.'_

Zabini's movements immediately slowed. The spell had deftly hit its target and Harry couldn't help but smile smugly. "The bastard stole my pocket watch," he explained to suspicious passersby. A stranger nodded his head in approval and walked off.

Then Harry saw Zabini's right hand slowly enter his pocket—no doubt, to grab his wand—and Harry all but ran the last bit of distance between them. He heard Zabini mutter the counter-curse, but it didn't matter. Harry was now in arms reach. He grabbed Zabini's right upper arm and whirled him around.

"Get off of me," Zabini bit out.

"No," Harry said, pushing Zabini into a nearby alleyway, away from prying eyes. He cast a Muffling and Unnoticeable Charm over the alleyway for good measure. "You wanted something from me and I want to know what it is."

"I told you—“

"Wrong person," Harry finished. Zabini pursed his lips and nodded curtly.

"That's bullshit," Harry said hotly. "You were yelling out Potter!"

"Was I?"

"Yes!"

"You may want your ears examined—“

"Zabini," Harry growled.

Zabini looked at Harry with a quirked brow and then he smirked. "Touchy."

"You find this amusing?" Harry said in annoyance.

"You really have no idea."

Harry couldn't stand the smug tone. It was as if he was back in bloody Potions lab surrounded by Slytherins and their sneakiness, their secrets, their smugness. Harry didn't care for it one bit. "What did you want from me?" he demanded.

"Obviously nothing," Zabini drawled. "Or perhaps no one taught you when someone walks away they typically want nothing to do with you."

"No shit," Harry retorted, "but it didn't start out that way now did it?"

Zabini studied him for a long moment before letting out a sigh. "Look," he said, "do your self a favor and don't worry about it."

"Don't tell me not to worry about it," he hissed. "You're obviously up to something!"

Zabini rolled his eyes. "Must you be so nosy?"

"This is not being nosy!  _You_  sought out  _me_. And I want to know why!"

"You never could leave it alone, could you?"

"What does that even mean?"

"Nothing," Zabini muttered before studying Harry again and Harry had a feeling that Zabini  _did_  mean something by it. But before he could ask again, his attention was caught by Zabini's arm shifting under his grasp. He glanced down to find Zabini's wand pointed directly at his head. Then Zabini's hand began to sway and Harry jumped backed in realization, jerking Zabini's arm to the right.

A pale bluish green light flew past Harry's right shoulder and melted into the stone wall behind him. He stared at Zabini in disbelief. "You bastard!" he said, pushing Zabini away from him. "Is that how Slytherins deal with their problems? Obliviate anyone who gives them trouble? Is that how you avoid being caught? How convenient!"

"No," Zabini said coolly, “it’s how we deal with nosy twats." He pointed his wand at Harry. " _Obliviate!_ "

Harry ducked just in time. "What the—“

" _Obliviate,_ _”_ Zabini incanted again and Harry rolled away. He could feel the spell graze his lower back.

" _Confute_!" Harry cried out from the ground, but his aim was off. The spell flew a few feet over Zabini's head. "Stop! Just stop, okay?" he tried, crawling backwards on the ground, but he knew it was pointless. Zabini was standing over him with his wand aimed at Harry's head.

"Sorry, Potter."

And he did, he really did look sorry…

" _Obliviate_."


	4. Realigned

Without thinking, Harry had Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. He didn’t know what was going on, he just needed to sit down and  _think_.

Staggering backwards away from the Apparition point, he turned only to stop short, just narrowly missing an old man who was sitting at a table Harry swore had never been there before. 

"You again!" the man barked. He peered over the top of his spectacles, eyeing Harry with disapproval. "At least your reflexes have improved."

"Erm...my apologies, sir," Harry said, bemused.

“And you’ve acquired some manners,” the man muttered, shifting his eyes back to the book he was holding. “Maybe next time you’ll avoid me all together.”

Harry took a step back. He had no idea what this man was talking about and it was just adding to all the confusion. “Uh…I'll just be going then."

The man waved him off and Harry tried to desperately tell himself the man was just senile as he edged around the table and began weaving his way through the Leaky Cauldron. The tables, Harry noted unhappily, had been rearranged since his previous visit…then again, it had been awhile. He rarely got a moments peace in this place so he tended to avoid it. Tom could have rearranged weeks ago—it didn’t mean anything.  Convinced that he was right, Harry slid into an empty corner booth and hoped to Merlin that no one would notice him. He rubbed his face beneath his glasses and tried to make sense of everything that had happened.

Sudden transportation to Grimmauld Place. Weird, but not impossible.

Sirius and Lupin, alive and well. Definitely impossible…or so he had thought…

"What can I get you?"

Harry peered between his fingers and saw Tom, the owner and bartender of the Leaky Cauldron. He sighed in relief, grateful to see a familiar face that didn't belong to a dead person.

"Nothing today, Tom," Harry said, pulling his hands down his face. "I just need a moment to collect my thoughts. Thanks though." He cradled his face back into his hands.

"Oh no you don't, up you get Mister…"

Tom paused expectantly then—so expectantly that Harry looked up in surprise. He found Tom staring right at him and Harry could only stare back, half expecting him to still finish.

"Mister…" Tom repeated.

"Potter," Harry replied slowly. Was this some kind of joke?

"I thought so," Tom said as if he had just figured out some sort of puzzle. "You must be James's kid."

Somewhere, deep in his gut, Harry felt a painful clench.  _James's kid_? Of course he was, but why would Tom provide this painful reminder? It made no sense. Tom was still staring at him, clearly waiting for an answer, but Harry was at a loss for words and Tom only misunderstood his silence. "It's nothing to be ashamed of—“

"I'm not!"

"Oh," Tom said, and then he whacked the table with his palm. "Well up you get then, Mr. Potter. These tables are for  _paying_  patrons. I don't make a knut watching people  _collect their thoughts_."

"What?" Harry said, perplexed. Tom was usually begging him to stay and hang about. Good for business, he had always said.

"Up and out," Tom repeated, gesturing with his hands.

"You want me to  _leave_?" Harry said incredulously.

"That's the general meaning of up and out, lad," said the old man Harry had almost run into. He was seated a few tables away.

"Stay out of this, Angus," Tom said.

"Wait," Harry said, his brain catching up to this strange turn of events. "You two…don't know who I am."

"Sure," Angus said. "You're the lad that ran into me earlier."

"You're obviously a Potter," Tom added.

"A Potter," Harry repeated, feeling panicked. He could handle the old man not knowing him, thinking he was just some guy that had run into him. But Tom…He was too much, not with everything that had already happened.

"I'll be going then," Harry said, rising from the bench. He could feel his hands starting to shake so he stuffed them inside his pockets. "Sorry for the inconvenience." He then turned on his heel and practically ran to the exit.

' _Oh god, oh god, oh god. This can't be real_ ,' he thought as he pushed his way into the alleyway behind the Leaky Cauldron. He leaned against the wall and tried to calm his breathing, but his mind was whirling.

_You must be James's kid…_ Tom didn't know him…

_What are you doing here so soon?…_ Sirius and Lupin both alive...

_The Wrackspurts are everywhere after all_ _…_ Harry's head shot up. Bloody hell, his friends! He had completely forgotten about them. Was there any chance they'd still be at Fortescue's?

Maybe they knew what was going on…

Harry pushed off the wall, hastily hit the necessary bricks with his wand, and passed through the archway the moment it appeared. He jogged down the cobblestone alley and quickly passed Potage's Cauldrons, Slug and Jitters, the second hand book shop, Eeylops, and then at Quality Quidditch, Harry stopped short.

There, in the display window was a broom he had never seen. It had definitely not been there earlier that morning when had he passed by.  _THE FIREJET_ , a sign read underneath the broom. Harry skimmed the description. Ash handle…diamond-hard polish…hand picked birch twig broom tail…accelerates to 150 miles per hour in ten seconds…improved aerodynamics…turn and stop on a knut…This sounded all too familiar. How was this any different than the Firebolt? And with the Lightningbolt on the market, who would go with this broom? Was it cheaper?

No— _Price on request_  ended the brooms brief description, the tell tale sign that the broom was unaffordable for most.

Harry shook his head. He'd bet anything the Lightningbolt would be back on display within the next few days. No one even seemed interested in this broom. Harry was the only one examining it…

And that's when it hit him.

He was the only one standing here, despite the fact that this was a brand new display. That not only was no one looking at this broom, but that no one—not a soul—had approached him, called out, or even looked at him since he stepped foot in Diagon Alley.

Harry didn't know if he should be pleased or worried.

Turning from the Quidditch display, he stepped into the traffic of people. Surely someone would stop. Surely someone would pay notice to him—and yet, no one did. The street was full of shoppers and the only attention he received were annoyed glances for standing in the middle of the path. Tom wasn't the only one that didn't know him. He was a complete stranger to these people…

"Get a move on," a familiar voice said from behind Harry. It was Angus and he was nudging the back of Harry's knees with his cane. "Or I’ll retract my previous statement about you being well mannered."

"Alright, alright," Harry said, stepping out of the cane's reach. "I'm moving."

Harry strode away from Angus, his panic rising. No one knew him. Sirius and Lupin were alive and Harry could only explain it by dream or hallucination. But it was much too real, much too painful, all while being much too pleasant. Being not famous? Lupin and Sirius alive? It was too good to be true...

And he didn't have dreams like this. There had to be some sort of other explanation.

Moments later, Fortescue’s came into view. The front row table he and his friends had occupied only twenty minutes before was now empty. Harry looked around; hoping he'd spot someone hanging about, but he didn't see anyone. His friends weren't there anymore and he had to grudgingly admit it made sense. He had disappeared. Why would they still be there? They were probably out looking for him…

But what did strike him as odd was the lack of commotion. Hate as he may, he  _was_ Harry Potter and he had disappeared and there had been a lot of bright light—but wait, no one knew him here in this…dream or hallucination or whatever it was. So of course no one cared that he had disappeared. And was this even the same Fortescue's? The flavor of the month displayed in the window was Cherry Chip Chocolate rather than the Raspberry Nut Swirl he had enjoyed earlier…

"Potter?"

Harry spun around, instantly coming out of his jumbled thoughts, and spotted Zabini leaning against the length of wall nearby.

"Zabini?" Harry said, nearly sagging in relief. "I didn't see you there."

"Disillusioned," Zabini said simply. He was staring at Harry's forehead as he approached and Harry instinctively smoothed his hair down. “Salazar,” he added with a sigh, “I never thought I'd be glad to see that ridiculous habit of yours. Come on."

"What? Wait," Harry said, taking a step back. Too much had happened, he had to be sure. "Something crazy is going on—so just humor me, okay? Who was able to see the thestrals in our Care of Magical Creatures class?"

Zabini rolled his eyes. "Must I?"

"Yes."

"You. Me. Longbottom. The Oaf."

"Don't call him that," Harry snapped.

"Why'd you think I've been standing out here?" Zabini said, ignoring Harry's comment. "I've been waiting ages for someone to show up. We can't all be busy little saviors, but—”

"Okay, okay, I get your point."

"Good. Now come on," Zabini said, grabbing Harry's arm. "Before someone sees you."

"I don't think we’ll have to worry about that," Harry grumbled.

Zabini laughed darkly as he led the way. "You'd be surprised.” Then he was pulling Harry into a side alleyway that Harry hadn't even seen.

"Where did this—“

"It was charmed not to be noticed," Zabini explained. "At least, that's my best guess. It was an unfamiliar spell."

"An unfamiliar spell?” Harry said, wrenching his arm from Zabini’s grasp. He began pacing back and forth, trying to make sense of everything. “That’s not the only unfamiliar thing around here. What the hell is going on? I feel like I'm going mental. There was all of that bright light and then I was on my kitchen floor and—“

Harry stopped when he caught eye of Zabini's amused expression. "What? What's so funny? And where’s everyone else?"

Zabini's face grew serious at Harry's last question and he shrugged. "No clue."

Harry stared. "You mean you haven't seen them?"

"Of course not. They disappeared just like you and I did. You were the first to show back up."

"Disappeared?" Harry repeated. And slowly he began to understand. He wasn't the only one who had been engulfed by that light, his friends had been sitting right there alongside him. They would have disappeared from Fortescue's as well… And then appeared, where?

"That's what I said," Zabini replied.

"But where to?—Where did you disappear to?"

"I don't know where everyone else disappeared to for sure, but  _you and I_  disappeared to an alternate dimension."

"An alternate  _what_?"

"Dimension," Zabini repeated as if he were talking about the weather. "And if I had to guess, the rest of our little group is here as well."

"Are you insane?" Harry cried out. Zabini couldn’t possibly believe this, it was impossible…wasn’t it?

But then he remembered everything that had just happened to him. The ball of light. Sirius and Lupin. A different kitchen, a different Diagon Alley. The Firejet. No one knowing who he was… It all made perfect bloody sense. Harry groaned and mentally added this to the list of cocked up situations he'd been in.

Zabini was watching him, an ugly smug smirk on his face. "Who's insane now?"

"Sod off," he said without malice. "How is this even possible? How'd  _you_  reach this conclusion?"

"Well," Zabini began, leaning against the brick wall across from Harry. "After being engulfed by that light, I found myself back home in my flat. Only it was no longer my flat, it was occupied by Muggles. Imagine their surprise when I suddenly appeared."

Harry could imagine it and he let out another groan. "What did you do to them?"

"Don't worry, I only Obliviated them."

"Yeah, only," Harry said sarcastically.

"I had my suspicions then," Zabini continued, "but I wasn't sure. I decided to return to Fortescue's in hopes that someone from our group would still be there." He gave Harry a pointed look.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Harry said. "So that's it? You concluded you were in an alternate dimension based on finding Muggles in your flat? What about Time-Travel? Impostors?—“

"I'm not done," Zabini said, silencing Harry with a look. "Moments after I arrived back at Fortescue's I thought I spotted you. So I called out to you."

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. A shiver went up his spine. "And?" he urged on.

"It was your counterpart—the Harry Potter of  _this_  world."

"What?” Harry breathed out.

"I know. Imagine my surprise. Here I was calling out for you when I suddenly noticed your fine quality tailored robes, your Adelard bag and boots, your neatly tousled hair, your glasses that actually framed your face…"

"Must have been a real shock to you," he responded dryly.

"It was, it most certainly was," Zabini said. "Never did I imagine that you could look like an actual wizard and a wizard with class no less."

"Are you done?"

Zabini smirked at him. "He didn't have your scar."

Harry reached up to touch his scar. Then he let out a shaky breath and ran his hand through his hair. "That explains a lot. No one knows who I am," he said, feeling suddenly sick.

"Heartbreaking for you, I'm sure."

Harry let out a dry laugh, not wanting to talk about it. "What happened—once you realized he wasn't me?"

"I ran off," Zabini said with a shrug. "But your bloody double followed me."

"Oh?"

"He shoved me into this alleyway," Zabini said, looking around as if he was recalling the scene, “but I ended up Obliviating him."

" _What!?_ Do you Obliviate anyone and everyone who crosses your path?"

"Don't act all high and mighty, Potter. He'd still be harassing me if I hadn't."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but then he clicked it shut, realizing he had more important things to worry about. "Fine," he relented. "We need to be looking for everyone else, anyway. You said you thought they were here as well."

"It's only logical, but I don't know exactly how we're going to find them."

"You appeared in your flat, right?" Harry said and Zabini nodded once. "And I appeared in Grimmauld Place, perhaps everyone was sent to where ever they live."

"It's been over thirty minutes. You really think they'd still be there?"

No. Harry honestly didn't. Not if the others had a similar experience to his own, but how else was he supposed to locate four people in an alternate dimension? "We've got to start somewhere. And we're not doing any good standing here which we probably shouldn't be doing anyway.  We have no clue what this world is like."

"It seems fine," Zabini said, unconcerned. "I nicked a Prophet and it was full of the usual tripe."

"How reassuring," Harry replied wryly. "Thank goodness I'll be able to sleep tonight—“

Then Harry stopped, trailing off, staring off into nothing as a memory from only minutes before hit him like a herd of Hippogriffs. _The Order meeting's not 'til tonight_ _…_

“No…” Harry whispered.

"What?" Zabini said, alarmed.

But Harry hardly paid him any notice. It was all making sense in the most painful way possible. Everything was clicking into place. “Tonight—an Order meeting is tonight and they thought— _oh god_ —they were real! They were actually real!"

"Wait— _Who_ was real?"

"Sirius and Lupin. They showed up at Grimmauld Place—my home. They must have thought I was the other Harry!"

Zabini swore. "Potter, please tell me you Obliviated them."

Harry spared Zabini a look.

"Of course you didn't! Potter, do you realize what they will do if they figure who you are?"

"We'll worry about that later," Harry said, distracted. "I thought they were hallucinations, but—I can't believe it—they were real!"

"Hallucinations?" Zabini repeated incredulously. "And to think you had me convinced you weren't insane."

"Sorry if my mind doesn't automatically jump to alternate dimensions and Obliviation," Harry retorted, but he was still half distracted, putting the pieces together. "But that doesn't matter now. There's an Order meeting tonight and I—I mean, the other me, must be a part of it! And if the Order is meeting then it must mean that Vol—“ He paused, realizing suddenly that Voldemort's name could be jinxed here and he had no way of knowing it. Better not take chances, he mused. "You-Know-Who is here."

Zabini stared, an array of different emotions flicking through his eyes. Then he swore loudly and Harry found himself unable to agree any more. They needed to find the others and they needed to find them fast.

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

Merlin, Harry was late. He knew he was going to be late, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what had taken him so long. No use worrying about it now though, he mused. He had more important concerns, like how he was going to avoid his mum's wrath.

Tip toeing through the sitting room, he carefully listened for any voices…

"Well look who finally decided to show up."

Harry cursed inwardly. His younger brother, Jude, was lounging across the sofa. Harry had been too distracted to notice him and now he knew there was no way he could ease his self into his mum's company.

"Hey Jude," Harry replied.

"Where’ve you been? Mum and dad are going spare."

"Duelling with You-Know-Who," Harry deadpanned. Where did his brother think he had been? It's not like Harry had never been home late before, especially considering he was the family errand boy.

Jude arched his right brow in amusement. "I reckon that may explain a few things."

"And what is that suppose to mean?" Harry responded, rubbing his temples. An inexplicable headache had been forming over the past hour and this wasn't helping.

"You'll see." Jude smiled before yelling out, "MUM, HARRY'S HOME!"

"Prat," Harry muttered half heartedly. Then he braced himself for what was about to come.

"Harry?" his mum cried out. The sound of several chairs scraping against the wooden floor came from the kitchen. His mum appeared in the kitchen doorway a moment later. "Harry!" she cried out in relief when she spotted him. She ran across the living room and threw her arms around him.

"Mum?" he said, now concerned. "What's wrong?" He gave his mum a reassuring squeeze and saw Jude roll his eyes at the scene. Perhaps Harry would get out of this one…

She pulled away from him and held him out at arms length, studying his face. She looked an absolute mess. "You're alright?" she asked. "You're not hurt?"

"What?" he said in surprise. Was he that late that they assumed he had been hurt? "No, I'm fine."

"Well thank Merlin for that."

Harry looked over his mum's red hair and saw his dad leaning against the kitchen door frame. Remus and Sirius were standing just behind him.

"Where have you been?" his mum said, anger now lacing her voice. "We've been worried sick, absolutely  _sick!_ "

"I've just been running those errands," Harry said, holding up the bag he brought home defensively. "It just took me longer than usual, okay?"

"Errands? You've been running errands this entire time?"

"That and work," Harry said, slightly annoyed. His mum knew he was putting in long hours at work. He had hit a wall on the project he had been working on and the extra hours hadn't been helping. He would have, in fact, stayed at work longer if there hadn't been an Order Meeting that night—something he was required to attend being an Order member and all.

"That's all?" Sirius asked. His expectant tone rubbed Harry the wrong way.

" _Yes_ , that’s all,” Harry said emphatically. “Why is that so difficult to believe? And what are you two doing here, anyway?" He looked between Sirius and Remus. "Couldn't wait 'til the meeting to see us?"

Remus and Sirius exchanged a look.

"The same could be said of you," Jude said from the sofa.

Harry looked around demanding an explanation, but everyone was too busy exchanging looks with one another to notice. "Am I missing something?” he said, now truly annoyed. “What am I missing?"

"A hair," Sirius said irritably.

"What?”

"Harry," his mum said, looking at him carefully, “were you at Headquarters this afternoon?"

"Headquarters?" he said, taken aback. "What? _No_ _,_ I already told you. I was at work. Why would you even think that?”

Sirius cursed loudly and stormed back into the kitchen. "I told you it wasn't him! I  _told_  you." Then he let out another string of curses.

"Language!" Harry's mum called over her shoulder.

"This isn't good," Harry's dad said.

"I'll go notify Dumbledore," Remus said. "He's already at Headquarters, checking the wards." He turned and disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Would someone _please_ tell me what's going on?" Harry said, feeling his temper rise. He passed by his mum, but stopped when he reached the kitchen doorway, where his dad still stood.

"Someone who looked like you was at Headquarters about an hour ago," his dad explained.

"Someone who  _looked_  like me?" Harry said dubiously. He watched his godfather pace the length of the kitchen over his dad's shoulder. The kitchen tinted green with Remus's departure. "What does that even mean? You just got a glimpse of someone and thought it was me or what?”

“No,” Sirius said, “it was more than a glimpse. I found you—him—just standing in the kitchen when I got home this afternoon. We talked and everything.”

A chill of unease went up Harry’s spine at the thought.

“What did he say?” Harry asked.

“I…not much,” Sirius said. “He was confused and seemed absolutely terrified of Remus and me.  I thought maybe you had done some sort of experiment at work but obviously not.”

"Okay," Harry said, mulling it over. "That’s odd. So I'm guessing he's gone now if you all thought it was me."

"Yeah, Disapparated," his dad explained.

"From Headquarters?" Harry said in disbelief. It was impossible to Apparate in or out of Headquarters due to the heavy Anti-Apparition Wards. Dumbledore himself had casted the wards when Grimmauld Place had become Headquarters years ago.

"I nearly pissed myself," Sirius said. "Dumbledore's checking the wards now, but no one else has been able to Apparate in or out since."

"How is that even possible?"

"We don't know," his dad said. He then placed a hand on Harry's shoulder causing Harry to look at him. "Harry, are you sure you remember everything from this afternoon?"

"Yeah, I told you already. I worked—“

"I know, but do you remember the specific details?"

"What are you implying?" Harry said defensively. "You think it was actually me at Headquarters?"

"No," Sirius said. "It wasn't you."

"Sirius…" his dad said warily.

"No James, I told you. His clothes were all wrong and the glasses too, but I  _knew_  as soon as he did magic…it was different and, well no offense Harry but this bloke's magic was unbelievable."

"But the wards are still in place. Headquarters is under the Fidelius," his dad argued. "There is no way someone uninvited could have gotten in."

"I wasn't there, dad," Harry said impatiently, side-stepping around him. He wanted to hear about this magic. If the guy was powerful enough to Apparate through the wards… "What spells did this guy use?"

Sirius gave him a knowing half grin. No matter the situation, Harry could never resist hearing about spell-work. "Only a Shield Charm," he said, sitting down at the kitchen table, “but it was powerful. His shield was  _visible_."

"Are you sure you weren't seeing things, Sirius," his mum said. She was now standing in the kitchen doorway. "The lighting in that kitchen is horrid."

"I know what I saw! I'm telling you, the shield was  _glistening_  around him. And Remus, he was only five feet away when he sent that Disarmer. Do you even realize how quickly the guy had to react to deflect that?"

"You're kidding," Harry said. There was no way. Visible shields were possible, but extremely rare. It was not something Harry had managed to do. Nor did he have the best reflexes which had cost him in Defense, though out loud, he blamed it on all of the rubbish professors.

"Nope, I'm serious," Sirius said, his lips twitching.

"Don't even think about it," his mum groaned and Sirius gave Harry a wink.

"So what's the plan?" Harry said, fighting a smile of his own.

"Don't know," his dad said, sighing. "Dumbledore was hoping it was you. It certainly would have left fewer things to explain."

"Yeah, I reckon it would have."

A heavy silence followed.  An intruder at Order Headquarters was worrisome at best.  Harry rubbed his forehead, realizing that his headache had only gotten worse. He headed towards the medicine cabinet and began searching for some headache tonic.

"Is your head bothering you?" his mum asked.

"Yeah. Ever since I left work." He grabbed the tonic and uncorked it.

"Wait!" his mum said as he was about to take a measured gulp. "Let me run a diagnostic spell on you before you muck up the results with that tonic."

"It's just a tension headache," Harry said. "Work's been brutal lately."

"I know, but it will be quick. Too much has gone on today," his mum argued. "We need to be sure. You know the rules."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. When in doubt, check it out," he recited. His mum had pounded that mantra, along with many others, into his head since before he could remember.

"Precisely," she said, smiling.

"Go on then," he said, closing his eyes. He heard the sound of his mum's voice and a moment later he felt the spell weave in and out of his body. After the spell exited his body one final time, he exhaled and opened his eyes. "There. May I have the tonic now?"

But his mum didn't answer him. She was staring at her wand with a furrowed brow.

"Mum?"

She lifted her gaze slowly and her familiar green eyes met his own. "Harry, you've been Obliviated."


	5. Myths

It was strange knowing something was there, but not being able to see it.

In a field just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole, Harry stood staring at the empty space that was normally occupied by the Burrow.

Zabini had stayed behind in Diagon Alley, equipped with a 'DA coin' for communication. The former Slytherin hoped to gather their scattered group in Diagon while Harry decided to take a more proactive role in the search. So far it wasn't going well.

Hermione's flat was occupied by Muggles and she was no where to be found.

Now this…

Harry reckoned there was a slight possibility that the Weasleys didn't live there, but he could feel magic swirling in the air…very familiar magic.

No, it was more likely that Harry couldn't pass through the wards. The question was had Ron gotten through? Harry was fairly certain that he had based on his own experience at Grimmauld Place…which reminded him, he needed to look into warding against dimensional travelers when he got out of this mess. Walburga Black didn't need to be popping into his kitchen.

But this was pointless—standing there underneath his Cloak, staring at nothing and pondering wards. It was time to try looking for Luna.

With a soft  _crack_ , Harry appeared a few kilometers away. Relief flooded him when he caught sight of the familiar rook-like house. The wacky signs, the zigzagging path leading to the front door, and the odd fruit trees littering the garden were all the same as they had been before the house had been destroyed in Harry's own world. There was no doubt in his mind. This house still belonged to the Lovegoods in this world.

Hugging his Cloak closer, he began walking up the winding path and tried to formulate a plan.  Zabini, he grudgingly realized, may have had a point. Harry couldn't just waltz up to someone's door, knock, and announce he was a dimensional traveler searching for his friends. Hell, Harry himself wasn't completely convinced on the idea.

So uncertain on how to proceed, he searched for a window to peek through—and there, half hidden behind an old crab apple tree, he found one. Desperately hoping he'd spot Luna inside, he sneaked towards the window, but froze when a loud, angry voice filled the air.

"KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS! CAN'T YOU READ?"

Harry whipped his head around. An orange sign he passed only moments ago was yelling in his direction. Thin dark vines were wrapped around its base and when Harry glanced down he realized they were the same ones underneath his feet.

"OI! THAT INCLUDES YOU! REMOVE YOUR SELF FROM THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS!"

Harry muttered out a curse. The sign had barely given him a moment to react. He jumped back onto the path, hoping against hope that whoever was in the house had not heard this ruddy sign. But luck was not on Harry's side that day. The front door flew open as the sign gave one more final warning. "AND STAY OFF!"

Xenophilius Lovegood’s head popped out of front door and it was times like these Harry mentally thanked his dad for his Cloak. Safely hidden—invisible—Harry was able to get a good look at the man. Mr. Lovegood was obviously alarmed, but he otherwise appeared well. His candy floss hair certainly appeared better kept than Harry’s memory of it.

"Who's there?" Mr. Lovegood called out, frantically twisting and craning his head from side to side. "Who's been on my Dirigible Plums?"

"Dear?" an unfamiliar serene voice called out from somewhere in the house. "Xen, come back inside."

"I need to find who's been ruining my Plums," Mr. Lovegood explained over his shoulder.

"I'm sure it's nothing, dear. Perhaps the gnomes have finally returned. Do try not to scare them off."

"But I don't see any gnomes!" Mr. Lovegood whined, still desperately looking around the garden.

Harry heard several voices, female he thought, coming from the house, but he couldn't discern any words. He was vaguely aware that he should have been more concerned over hearing  _voices_  coming from the Lovegood home, but all inklings of worry ended when he caught sight of Luna standing behind her father.

Harry sighed in relief. ' _Two down, three to go.'_

"Harry?" Luna called out. "You're safe here."

"Harry, you say?" Mr. Lovegood asked curiously. "You think Harry is out here?"

Luna nodded. “Of course. He’s very good at hiding.”

“I see,” Mr. Lovegood said, looking towards his daughter. “And does he normally step on our Dirigible Plums?"

Harry pulled off his Cloak while Mr. Lovegood's attention was on Luna. He quickly stuffed it inside his robes.

"I don't know,” Luna said, her protuberant eyes shifting to Harry. “Do you?"

"Er…no,” Harry answered. “I can't say that's a habit of mine quite yet.”

“Oh good,” Luna said, sounding relieved.

Mr. Lovegood turned back towards the path, showing no surprise at Harry's sudden appearance. "Ah! So you are here. How wonderful! Luna was just telling us about you!"

"Us?" Harry questioned.

Luna gave Harry a vague smile. "You should come in, Harry."

Mr. Lovegood retreated back into the house, apparently finding it unnecessary to introduce himself, while Luna patiently waited for Harry at the door as he walked the rest of the way up the path. "So you're alright then?" he asked as he approached.

"Oh yes," she answered cheerfully. "I've really missed this house."

Harry internally winced. The Lovegood's home had been rebuilt after the war, but Luna never seemed keen on the new house. She had never voiced her opinion, however. "Er…do you happen to know what's going on?" he asked to abate his guilt.

"Daddy says I'm from another dimension."

“And why doesn't that surprise me?” Harry muttered to himself.

And yet a few seconds later, Harry was forced to admit that there was really no other explanation. The circular kitchen Luna had guided him into was nothing as he remembered. Gone were the brightly colored flowers, birds, and insects. The walls, though still colorful, were painted in tranquil hues that seemed to be shimmering. The middle of the kitchen hosted the same round wooden table and this is where Harry spotted them,  _another_  Luna and a woman that Harry vaguely recognized as Luna's mother.

' _Well, hell,'_  he thought. Sure Zabini had seen Harry's own counterpart, but Harry's mind hadn't been truly convinced until now. This other Luna appeared the same age as his Luna and he knew Luna's mum had died when Luna was only eight—or was it nine? In any case, Luna's mother definitely should not be sitting in a kitchen with a teenage Luna. And then there was the issue of the other Luna's appearance. Harry was instantly reminded of the picture he'd once seen in Luna's room. This other Luna, like the young Luna he'd seen in the picture, was better groomed than he'd ever seen  _his_  Luna. Her wavy locks of dirty blonde hair fell between her shoulder blades, rather than down to her waist. Her clothes were better coordinated…

"You must be Harry," Luna's mother said, cutting through his mental assessment. She smiled warmly at him as she stood to greet him. "I'm Selene, Luna's mother."

Harry glanced briefly over at Luna. She was still standing beside him, but she was now beaming at her mother. Harry's heart swelled with joy for her. At least one good thing had come out of this mess. "It's very nice to meet you," he said, returning Selene's smile.

"And I'm Luna," the other Luna said unnecessarily. "It must be so wonderful to have friends."

Harry could feel his smile turning awkward. "Uh…"

"Oh it is," Luna answered from beside him.

"Our Luna was home-schooled," Selene explained to Harry as she walked back towards the table. "Would you care for any tea?"

"Er…actually, I can't stay long," Harry said glad to have an excuse to avoid a round of mystery tea. He had endured his fair share of odd infusions over the summer while visiting Luna. It had turned out that Gurdyroot was one of the better ones he had tried.

"Oh but you must stay," Mr. Lovegood said. "It is not everyday you meet a dimensional traveler." His pale eyes were full of excitement and it filled Harry with trepidation. The last thing Harry needed was to be revealed to this world via the Quibbler.

"About that…"

"Oh don't worry, dear," said Selene. "We won't  _tell_  anyone. Few witches and wizards believe it's possible after all."

"Right," Harry said. "Of course." Mr. Lovegood was hardly hindered by other people's doubt when it came to sharing his odd views, but Harry was trying not to remind himself of that. And maybe Luna's mum somehow counteracted him...and maybe the Quibbler didn't even exist in this world…

But still, Harry couldn't stay. He needed to keep searching for Ron and Hermione and Malfoy. As each moment passed, the likelihood of finding them diminished.

"Come on dear," Selene said, smiling. "One cup of tea won't hurt anything."

Harry glanced back at the door, torn. He really _did_  need to keep searching, but he hadn’t been able to find Ron or Hermione at their homes and he was unsure where else to look for them. As for Malfoy, Zabini had made Harry swear not to go looking around Wiltshire for him. Harry had agreed that marching up to Malfoy Manor would be unwise, but he felt uneasy about not looking for Malfoy while suspecting that Voldemort was around. What if Malfoy was in danger? But Zabini had been adamant. While thoroughly bashing Harry's hero complex, Zabini had listed a number of century old wards surrounding the Manor that Harry would be unable to break through if no one was willing to let him in...

So Harry had pushed down his unease and hoped that in the end Zabini would be right—that Malfoy would show up at Fortescue's.

This meant Harry was currently stuck and he _did_ have some questions. So maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay a few minutes…

"Alright, I reckon I can do one cup," Harry said.

"Splendid!" Mr. Lovegood exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

"You wouldn't mind answering a few questions though, would you?"

"Not at all! Have a seat and ask away."

Harry sat between Luna and Selene, nodding his thanks. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to broach a subject he thought impossible only an hour ago. He decided to start with another concern of his instead. "There is something I need cleared up—something that I heard in Diagon Alley earlier."

"Of course, of course," Mr. Lovegood encouraged.

Harry hesitated for a moment, feeling almost guilty for bringing it up, but he had to know. "Is You-Know-Who still around in this world?"

Mr. Lovegood's eyes widened fearfully, his spoon clanked loudly against his cup as it slipped from his fingers. "You-Know-Who?” he said tremulously. “I certainly hope not…but there are the rumors,” he added, glancing at his wife, “rumors and whispers of his return that seem to pop up every few years or so.”

Harry frowned at the vagueness of Mr. Lovegood's explanation. "So he was defeated then?"

"Not exactly," Selene said, setting a cup of something that thankfully smelled like tea in front of him. "No one knows what happened. He faded away—disappeared without a trace nearly twenty years ago. It took years for things to return to normal."

"And these rumors?"

"Oh who knows what to believe," Selene said dismissively. "Anything inexplicable that occurs is always linked back to him, but nothing is for certain."

Harry nodded absently. It had been the same back home before Voldemort had returned. He took a polite sip of his tea and found it surprisingly good.

"Which doesn’t mean he  _hasn't_  returned, but most believe him to be dead," Mr. Lovegood added. "I wouldn't go around speaking about  _him_  to just anybody."

"Of course not," Harry said as he tried to wrap his mind around Mr. Lovegood's words. Voldemort had been gone for twenty years… But there were rumors of his return…

"Why do you ask?" Mr. Lovegood said. "Is You-Know-Who still around in your world?"

Harry exchanged a small smile with Luna. "No, he isn't" he said. "I just thought I heard someone in Diagon mention You-Know-Who earlier today and I wanted to be sure."

"Ah yes, those would be the rumors for you," Selene said. "I wouldn't worry your self over them."

Harry nodded absently. It was clear he was going to receive little information on Voldemort here at the Lovegoods. Tom Riddle was either dead or very good at hiding. And Harry was willing to bet it was the latter. He decided to change topics. "So alternate dimensions...You believe in them, then."

"Of course," Mr. Lovegood said, sounding relieved at the subject change. "Most people do."

"But that's not what you said before?" Harry said, puzzled.

"Ah," Selene said. "You misunderstood. There are many theories on alternate dimensions—the dimensions themselves are not what people have trouble believing. It is the  _travel_  between them that people find impossible."

"But you don't."

"No," Selene said, "especially not after today."

Harry was just glad someone believed them. Zabini had him convinced that no one in their right mind would believe in their plight. Granted, Harry  _was_  talking to the Lovegoods. They believed in a host of strange things. Still, just because they were unique, didn't mean they were wrong. And if they believed in  _the what_  then maybe they knew  _the how_ …

"Do you know how the traveling works then? I mean, do you have any ideas on how we got here?"

"It was Fawkes, Harry," Luna said quietly from beside him.

"Fawkes?" Harry repeated, baffled. Then he remember the lone red feather on the kitchen floor at Grimmauld Place, the ball of light as Fawkes flew towards them—but why would Fawkes bring them here?

"Luna told us you have a phoenix," the other Luna said wistfully.

"Not really," Harry said. "He just visits from time to time."

"Fawkes is very fond of you, Harry," Luna said reassuringly.

Harry shrugged. "I don't understand. Why would Fawkes bring us here?"

Luna gave him a look of pity before shifting her eyes to her tea. Harry stared at her profile, suddenly afraid of the answer.

"The phoenix's call, of course!" Mr. Lovegood said with excitement. "You know all about the myth, I'm sure."

_Myth_. The word rang through Harry’s head and gave him a horrible sense of déjà vu. "Sorry, I can't say I do."

"You've never read 'The Calling of the Phoenix?" Selene said, perplexed. "It's a popular children's story."

"It's not in Beedle the Bard," he said defensively. Hermione had read all of those ridiculous stories out loud in the tent after their disastrous visit with the Mr. Lovegood in their own world. Harry had been hoping for more clues on the Hallows within the other stories—no such luck, of course.

"Beedle the Bard?" Mr. Lovegood said. "Of course not, but he is rather great, is he not? The Tale of the Three Brothers—“

"Xen," Selene cut in. "Not now."

"Right…of course," Mr. Lovegood muttered and Harry scratched his nose to hide his smile. If the man only knew…

"Beedle the Bard isn't the only source of children's stories," Selene said to Harry. "There are many others. The Flemm Brothers gave us 'The Calling of the Phoenix.'"

"It's a lovely story," the other Luna said, smiling.

"It really is," Selene agreed. "It's a story about hope. I assume you know the logistics of phoenixes? That they die within their own flames and are born again from their ashes?"

Harry nodded once, urging her to continue.

"That in itself is quite remarkable. To be born again—fresh and new—full of life moments after bursting in flames. What tragic beauty." Selene smiled sadly. "They are a symbol of hope, but even more so they provide hope."

"Their song," Harry said simply.

"Yes. I have not had the pleasure of hearing a phoenix's song, but I have been told it is quite beautiful. And let us not forget their tears have enormous healing powers."

Harry nodded again, remembering his own experiences with both. "So this story?"

Selene looked at him over her cup of tea. "Shall I retrieve my copy? We can—“

"No, no," Harry said quickly. "A summary is more than fine."

"Very well," Selene said, sounding disappointed. "The story speaks of a world that has been gripped with an unnamed evil. Hope is seeping from the world as the evil grows. And the phoenix, seeing the world is in danger, searches in every home—every valley—every mountain— every street— and so forth—for a hero who would be able to save them all."

Selene paused and watched him closely. "The phoenix, however, is unable to find a hero."

Harry stared back, dreading how this story had anything to do with their situation.

"And yet, this does not stop the phoenix. He remains determined to bring hope back into his world, so he flies to another, defying the impossible, and it is there that he finds the hero his world needs.”

Selene trailed off and Harry blinked, waiting for more, but Selene just smiled at him.

"And there you have it," said Mr. Lovegood. "That's why you're here. The phoenix's call!"

"That's it?" Harry blurted out. He could not believe this—that _they_   _believed_  this—oh, who was he kidding. "We were brought here to save the world?"

Mr. Lovegood nodded eagerly at him. "From what or how I do not know."

"So there aren't any unnamed evils in this world?" he bit out sarcastically.

"There are many," Selene said unfazed. "Which one you are meant for is unclear, of course."

"Oh, I have a guess," Harry muttered bitterly.

"Wonderful then!" Mr. Lovegood said. "That will make your mission all the easier."

"Right," he said. He needed to get out of there. This was ridiculous. He should have known better than to ask the Lovegoods on their theories of inter-dimensional travel. Of course it would be based on a ruddy children's story—of course! Zabini had been right after all. No one in their  _right mind_ was going to believe them. "I really should get going."

"So soon? But you just got here!" Mr. Lovegood protested.

Harry shrugged unapologetically and turned to Luna. "Do you feel safe here?"

"Of course," she replied.

"I've only found Zabini…"

Luna's eyes grew with understanding.

"I know," said Harry, nodding once. "Do you wish to stay here?"

"Of course Luna is staying here," Selene said indignantly.

"And if Luna doesn't want to stay?" Harry challenged. He was aware that he should be more polite, but he could hardly make himself care. He was stuck in some alternate dimension, his friends were scattered Merlin knew where, and the Lovegoods thought he had been brought there to save the world—a world he didn't belong in. If he didn't get out of there soon, he was going to hex something or start yelling.

"I want to stay," Luna said quickly.

"You're sure?" he said to her and she nodded. "Alright then, you still have your D.A. coin?"

Luna nodded again and pulled a chain out from underneath her robes to reveal the necklace she had fashioned from the fake Galleon. "Wonderful. I'll use it to contact you."

"And how do I contact you?"

"Oh right," he said. "Give it here. I'll charm it so it goes both ways."

Luna slipped the coin from around her neck and handed it over. He smoothed his thumb over the ridges of the coin, remembering the day Hermione had made them. The memory made his stomach flip. He needed to find her and Ron—and Malfoy…

He turned the coin over, pointed his wand at it, and muttered the necessary spell. "There," he said. "You can use the back side of the coin to communicate with me."

Luna smiled at the coin before slipping it back around her neck. Harry gave her a half smile in return and stood. The need to leave was becoming unbearable. "It was a pleasure meeting you—"

Then Harry stopped, he had more to say, but he found himself caught off guard by the wide eyed expressions worn by Selene, the other Luna, and Mr. Lovegood. "What? Is something wrong?"

"No," Selene said quickly, shaking her expression away. "It was our pleasure, dear. Be safe and don't hesitate to come back. You are more than welcome to stay here."

"Okay…" he said slowly before adding a sincere, "Thanks." He began backing away from the table. "Don't forget to check your coin, Luna."

And with one last look at Luna's smile, Harry left with many of his questions unanswered.

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

"It seems that there is much to discuss tonight."

_'Much to discuss, indeed,_ ' Harry thought while suppressing a snort at Dumbledore's words.

The Order meeting began per usual, with Dumbledore prattling on about recent Death Eater activity and Order members—particularly Moody—sharing anything that had happened at work or during a mission. And Harry's mind was elsewhere.

He was too busy trying to remember what had happened that afternoon to pay any sort of attention. It was driving him mad, knowing something had happened, but not being able to remember it.

Ever since Harry had found out he had been Obliviated, he could sense a black fog hovering in the back corner of his mind. He'd kept reaching for the memory, but it was like grasping at water. He'd clutch enough to remember there was something he had forgotten but the actual memory would fall through his fingers. There was just a part of his day he would never remember.

He wasn't even sure when he had been Obliviated. He was fairly certain it had been after work because that's when the telltale headache had begun, but he couldn't be sure. Sometimes people didn't form a headache at all from being Obliviated and others formed a headache much later on—even days later. Besides, Harry's workload had been brutal and he often came home with headaches. So really, there was no telling when it had happened.

One thing was for sure though, between Harry being Obliviated and the intruder at Headquarters, the typical boring bimonthly Order meeting had become much more enthralling. The focus had quickly shifted to Harry and if his Obliviated state meant he had also been the intruder at Headquarters and just didn't remember it.

Harry had to force himself out of his thoughts in order to defend himself because if he was certain about anything, it was that he _hadn’t_ been the intruder. There was no way. He had seen Sirius's memory of the event. The guy didn't even look like him—well, okay, maybe he did look like him, but Harry wouldn't be caught dead in those glasses or those clothes. And then there was the bloke's magic. Harry prided himself on being a great wizard, but whoever had broken into Headquarters was on a whole other level. Whatever had been wiped from Harry's memory that afternoon had been something different entirely.

He was sure of it.

Too bad most of the Order didn't agree with him with Moody taking the lead.

"Look kid. It's simple. Someone Imperiused you—“

"I wasn't Imperiused," Harry ground out for the third time. Moody had been on this theory for ten minutes now and it was growing in favor among Order members evident by the fact that fewer and fewer people were arguing against it. Harry could see how the theory had its merits. It certainly explained how the wards hadn't been breached. The wards around Grimmauld Place let all Order members in, Imperiused or not.

And yet, Harry also found plenty wrong with the theory and not just because it suggested he had been daft enough to get Imperiused and "break in" to Headquarters. For him, the theory left something to be desired.

"I wasn't," he repeated fiercely.

"Harry…" his mum said, placing a calming hand on his back.

" _Mum_ , I wasn't!"

"You can't say for sure though, can you?" Moody barked out. "It seems obvious to me. You were Imperiused and told to break into Headquarters. You can even see the struggle in your eyes. You were fighting the curse!"

Harry disagreed on that point. He studied, researched, and spent the whole bloody day with the Imperius Curse. He would know a struggle with the wretched curse if he saw one. No, whoever showed up at Headquarters today had been fighting a different internal battle. Harry, though, had already brought this point up with Moody and it had been immediately shot down. So he tried a different approach.

"And the changes in my appearance?"

"To throw us off," Moody said. "Who knows what goes through the mind of a Death Eater."

"Who indeed," Dumbledore said. "We have certainly been thrown off and I'm afraid I’m not any closer to solving the mystery of what happened this afternoon."

"So what do you think?" Sirius said. "Do we need to move Headquarters?"

Dumbledore sighed and looked around the Drawing Room of Grimmauld Place. Twenty or so Order members were scattered around the room—Harry and his parents—Remus and Sirius—Neville Longbottom and his parents—Cedric Diggory—Fred, George, and Bill—Gideon and Fabian—Moody—McGonagall—Dung—Kingsley—Tonks—Hestia—Dedalus—everyone was looking to Dumbledore for an answer. Grimmauld Place had been Headquarters for more than a decade. To have to move it now would be a tremendous blow to the Order and they were already having a hard enough time.

"It is my belief that we remain safe here," Dumbledore said eventually.

Harry sighed. So Dumbledore thought it was him then. Great—that was just bloody great.

"The wards do not show signs of being breached and the Fidelius Charm remains intact which means whoever came through the wards this afternoon was given the secret of our location by me."

Dumbledore  _so_  thought it was him.

"I still don't understand how he Disapparated," Bill said, frowning towards Harry.

"I've been holding back," Harry said, unable to help himself. "I've always been able to Apparate through, but didn't want anyone to know."

Neville snorted, but his mum was less than pleased. "Harry," she muttered in warning.

"What," he snapped. "This is ridiculous! Do I really need to point out all of the flaws in this theory?"

His dad coughed, but Harry hardly cared. He  _knew_  it wasn't him and he wasn't going to roll over and let everyone just think it was him because it was the answer everyone wanted to hear.

"I can't Apparate through the wards now and I couldn't this afternoon. And since when have my Shield Charms been visible? I'll tell you when—never! The bloke's magic was completely different from mine," Harry argued for the second time.

"And we already discussed how the Imperius Curse can change people's magic," Moody said dismissively.

"Yeah! The Curse normally  _weakens_  a person's magic, not strengthen it!"

"But there are circumstances in which an Imperius Curse can enhance a person's magic," Dumbledore said calmly.

"I know that," Harry snapped, barely managing to control his urge to curse. Dumbledore was right; Harry had seen it in his own research. A person's magic could increase under the curse if it helped them complete the task in which they had been instructed to do. And yet, it was rare and Harry had never read about a case where a person could suddenly Apparate through an Anti-Apparition ward—the amount of magic that would require was ungodly. "I just don't think that's what happened."

And to Harry's utter surprise, Dumbledore smiled at him. "Nor do I."

"What?" he said, taken aback. Then he found him self getting annoyed. If Dumbledore agreed with him then why had they been running circles for the last ten minutes and why was Dumbledore okay with keeping Headquarters at Grimmauld Place because if Harry wasn't the intruder then that meant someone had, indeed, managed to break in.

"I admit, I still consider it a possibility, but I also find it lacking."

"But Albus," Professor McGonagall said, shooting an apologetic look towards Harry. "Surely this is the most logical explanation."

Harry scowled. There was nothing logical about any of this rubbish.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore answered, "but I am wondering if there is another possibility which we have not yet discovered."

"And what possibility is that?" Moody said. He was still giving Harry a calculating look.

"I’m not sure," Dumbledore said. "But I am hoping it will help explain the other strange and worrisome intrusion which has occurred today that we still have yet to discuss."

Harry stared at Dumbledore. Did he just hear that right?

" _Another_  intrusion?" Tonks said.

"Yeah," Fred said grimly. "Some bloke broke into the Burrow."

Next to Fred, George sighed heavily. "And he looks just like our brother, Ron."

 


	6. Drugged

"What are  _you_  doing here?"

Harry cursed under his breath. He knew he should’ve worn his Cloak, but he hadn’t been in the mood to sneak around. He felt restless, agitated, and impulsive—a combination he hadn't felt in a long time and the walk from the Lovegoods hadn't helped at all…

In a last ditch attempt to find Ron, Harry had decided to go into town. Ottery St. Catchpole was primarily Muggle. He could walk around this small town in his own world without being recognized. He had figured it’d be safe to go uncloaked especially since he wasn't famous in this world…

Apparently, however, he’d been wrong. Cursing to himself again, he gripped his wand and turned, only to find—

"Ron?"

It wasn't  _his_  Ron of course. That would have been too easy. It was the _o _ther__  Ron—this world's Ron. His red hair swept past his brows and shadowed his eyes, his face was unshaven. He was swaying on the spot and clutching a bottle Harry was willing to bet was not filled with pumpkin juice…or Butterbeer for that matter.

Ron let out an unflattering snort. "Remembered me, have you?"

Harry felt his brows lift at Ron's harsh tone. The Ron he knew was not usually an angry drunk...

"And still too good to talk to me," Ron muttered.

"What?" Harry said automatically. "Of course not. And why would I forget you? We only—uh—“

Then he clicked his mouth shut, realizing suddenly that he knew next to nothing about this world. Had this world's Harry and Ron been in Gryffindor together? Was Hogwarts even open?—Luna had been home schooled. What was Harry thinking? He could so easily say the wrong thing…

"Exactly," Ron grumbled. Then he pushed past, leaving Harry behind with his thoughts…

Thoughts and overwhelming curiosity…

Harry turned and watched Ron stagger down the street. He knew deep down that he should leave.  Interacting with this world's Ron was a terrible idea. In fact, now he could see being in Ottery St. Catchpole uncloaked was a terrible idea. He could run into any of the Weasleys and who knew what their relationship with this world's Harry was like. And yet, Harry couldn't bring himself to leave. Not yet. He just kept watching Ron, hoping against hope he would suddenly turn into someone more familiar…

How was Harry going find him? If only there was some way to get past the Burrow’s wards because he was convinced that’s where Ron had ended up…

And that’s when Harry realized where this world’s Ron was headed.

"Wait!" He called out, his mind suddenly reeling with possibilities. "Oi—Ron!"

But Ron didn't stop or give any inclination that he had heard. So Harry took off without little thought after his best mate's counterpart. "Ron!" He called out again. "Wait!"

Harry picked up his pace when Ron still didn't stop. It wasn't long before Harry was only a few feet behind him. "Hey, Ron—wait up. There's something I need to ask you."

Ron spun around then—he spun around so suddenly that Harry almost crashed into him. His features were contorted in rage and Harry didn’t know if he should be more caught off guard by that or the spiteful words that came rushing out of Ron’s mouth.

“Leave me alone, Potter.”

Harry had only heard his surname spat out so hatefully by Malfoy and Snape. This was unbelievable. This wasn't just alcohol, he realized. This Ron—his best mate's counterpart— _hated_ him. Harry couldn't help it, he laughed in disbelief.

"You think this is funny?" Ron demanded harshly.

Harry shook his head, trying to neutralize his expression. "No," he said then he let out another small laugh because he still couldn't believe it. "Sorry—of course not."

Ron studied him through narrowed eyes. Then seeming to decide Harry wasn’t worth it, he growled in frustration, turned on his heel, and stormed off again. Harry watched him go, sadness replacing the disbelief. The wonderful friendship he had with Ron wasn't even close to existing in this world…

But that wasn't important right now. He couldn't let this Ron get away. He was Harry's best hope of finding  _his_  Ron—or at least some sort of clue of where he might be. So Harry took off again, hoping that this Ron was just as easy to manipulate as his counterpart was whilst drunk. It was the only way this was going to work.

"Are you completely dense?" Ron said angrily when Harry fell back in step with him.

Harry shot Ron a grin, one that always worked on Ron back home. "It's quite likely," he said cheerfully.

Ron blinked several times at him—still looking angry, but now also a little confused. "Must be," he mumbled eventually. "Won't leave me be."

Knowing he was on the right path, Harry mentally cheered. "Oi, you called after me, remember?"

Ron gave Harry a sidelong look, but said nothing. They walked in silence and for a minute it felt like Harry was walking beside his Ron towards the Burrow for a delicious dinner cooked up by Mrs. Weasley. But that was all destroyed when Ron blurted out, "Are you going to ask me or what?"

"What?" Harry replied, but then he remembered. "Oh—right. I wanted to ask you if you had seen anything… strange today?"

Ron gave him a look, but the effect was killed by a drunken hiccup. "Besides you?"

"Uh…yeah."

"No," Ron said. Then he took a swig from his bottle.

Harry mentally sighed. He had expected as much, but he still wasn't willing to give up hope…

"Whahappened to your,"—Ron paused and gestured to his eyes—“you know." Then he hiccupped again.

"Glasses?" Harry supplied.

"Yeah." Ron took another long swig.

"I lost my other pair," Harry lied.

Ron snorted into the bottle as he tipped it back down. "They look stupid," he slurred. "Really stupid."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly. He was beginning to get tired of hearing how much better his counterpart looked.

"Jus'saying." Then Ron took yet another long swig of his drink and Harry eyed it warily. Why was Ron drinking so much?

"What do you got in there?"

"'Smine."

Harry rolled his eyes as they began crossing the bridge over the Otter River. "Yes I see that. I don't  _want_  any. I'm merely asking what it... is..." Then he trailed off, distracted by something he hadn't felt in over a year.

Coldness. Familiar, terrifying coldness.

Harry quickly scanned his surroundings, knowing they couldn't be far and just past the other side of the bridge he spotted them. Dementors, a whole horde of them, were eagerly waiting their arrival.

"Bloody hell s'cold," Ron slurred. He hiccupped and took another mouthful from his bottle. “Thasbetter.”

"Ron! Get back here," Harry whispered urgently. He reached out and grabbed the back of Ron's robes as the cold began to seep through Harry's skin and down into his very bones. He shuttered as cruel voices began whispering in his ear.

_"Kill the spare..."_

_"All except...except for the Mudblood..."_

_"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now..."_

"Oi! Gerrofme!"

Ron's voice drowned out the screams of Harry's memories, allowing Harry to focus. "No, you dolt!" he said, pulling Ron towards a nearby alley. "There are Dementors over there."

"Scar'd…Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but his retort was lost to a blood curdling scream. Harry pushed Ron into the alley, pulled out his wand, and ran back out to the bridge. Harry didn't know when or where these six kids had come from, but they were currently in the clutches of Dementors, unknowingly about to lose their souls.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_  he bellowed, thinking of his own Ron and not the idiot back in the alleyway. A solid silver stag erupted from the end of his wand and charged across the bridge. It rammed into Dementor after Dementor, throwing them with ease. Harry smiled fondly. He had almost missed doing that...

Almost.

The air began to warm. The Dementors were retreating to the horizon with Harry's stag chasing them away. The six kids were scampering off, obviously terrified but with their souls still intact. Harry sighed in relief, grateful that these children remained unscathed. He began making his way back towards the alley where he left Ron, but stopped when he heard a wonderfully familiar voice calling out to him.

"Sir! Young sir! Wait!"

That voice could only belong to one person and against his better judgment, Harry spun around. A disheveled Arthur Weasley was swiftly crossing the bridge. As he neared Harry, his face lit up in surprise. "Harry Potter?" he said. "That was yours?"

"Er…yeah"

"Impressive, truly impressive! I’ve never seen such a thing. I couldn't get my own to work. I thought those kids were…well never mind that. Thank goodness you were here."

Harry smiled. Mr. Weasley seemed to be exactly the same, which made Harry wonder how Ron turned out to be such a sod.

"They are getting out of control. This is the second attack I've seen in three weeks and the Muggles—of course—have no idea what's going on." Mr. Weasley sighed and looked at Harry carefully. "Your parents know you're here?"

"My parents?" Harry repeated in disbelief.

Mr. Weasley's lips twitched into a half smile. "You sound just like Ron. You are both of age, yes, but these are dangerous times and parents still worry about their children no matter what their age."

 _His parents_?

Harry hadn’t even considered the possibility of his parents being here in this world, but it made sense. The Harry of this world had no lightning bolt scar. Voldemort never attacked him and his parents never had to die for him. They were alive. Of course they were. Remus had even confirmed it earlier that day _—‘They_ _aren't coming until later,_ _'_ he had said when Harry asked if his parents were next. And then there was that whole business with Tom. Harry had just been too distracted to put the pieces together…

His parents—but not his parents—were here, but didn't belong to him. They belonged to the other Harry who had no scar and no destiny tied to Voldemort. Instead the guy had parents and Sirius and Remus and Merlin knew who or what else.

Jealousy flooded him then bitterness. The Lovegoods thought he was meant to save this world, did they?

"Yeah. They know I'm here," he lied.

"Good. Very good," Mr. Weasley said, but Harry was hardly paying attention. A welcomed distraction had caught his attention. Someone else was running across the bridge, someone who looked extraordinarily like Hermione. He'd recognize that hair anywhere.

"Harry!"

He grinned and exhaled in relief, thankful his trip hadn't been a complete waste. He had found Hermione and of course she would be here. She was probably looking for Ron as well.

Mr. Weasley turned to see who was calling and it was immediately obvious that he didn't recognize Hermione at all. He was wearing the same expression he wore when examining a new found Muggle object—intrigued, yet confused.

Fearing Hermione's reaction to Mr. Weasley, Harry ran towards her. "There you are," he said loudly. He tried to give her a look of warning, but she was too flustered to notice.

"Oh Harry! Mister—Umfph."

Harry had wrapped Hermione into a forceful hug, not knowing how else to stop her. He lifted her off her feet and spun her around. "Play along," he whispered in her ear. When he pulled away, her eyes were wide. "Play along," he said again through a clenched jaw. She blinked rapidly and inclined her head fractionally.

Harry looped his arm around her waist and turned to face Mr. Weasley who was smiling at the pair of them. "Ah, to be in love," Mr. Weasley said. "This is the reason you're in town, I presume?"

"It is," Harry said, suppressing his laughter. He smiled at Hermione and she arched her eyebrows in response. "Oh come on darling. It was only a matter of time before people found out."

"What can I say," Hermione said in a strained voice. "It's just so sudden."

"Love is often rushed in troublesome times," Mr. Weasley said, smiling kindly at Hermione. "But I don't believe we’ve met."

"Oh my apologies," Harry said quickly. "This is Penelope…Dursley." If Mr. Weasley didn't know Hermione's identity, it was going to stay that way. Though Harry had to admit it was unnerving. Clearly the trio’s friendship didn't exist in this world, but Hermione would have still gone to school with Ron... Harry was really beginning to wonder what had gone on at Hogwarts.

"Arthur Weasley," Mr. Weasley replied, holding out his hand for Hermione to shake. "It is a pleasure meeting you, Miss Dursley. I just happened to run into Harry here after I saw that marvelous Patronus of his."

"It does attract a lot of attention, doesn't it?" Hermione said pointedly.

"Yes, I suppose it does," Mr. Weasley said, frowning. "But in this case, I'd say it was for the better. I best be off though. Molly sent me down here to find Ron."

"Ron?" Hermione questioned.  Her voice held so much hope that Mr. Weasley gave her a curious look.

"My son."

"He's back here, Mr. Weasley," Harry said before Hermione could say anymore. "I had to leave him in the alley…"

"Ah. No explanation is necessary,” Mr. Weasley said, looking suddenly tired. “Just point the way.”

Harry walked Mr. Weasley to the alley with Hermione trailing behind. Ron was thankfully still there, but he was passed out in the dirt, snoring softly. Hermione audibly gasped at the sight and Mr. Weasley misinterpreted her reaction. "He's a good kid," he said, sighing heavily. "He just needs to sort out his priorities."

"You need any help?" Harry asked quietly.

"Oh no, I'll take him from here."

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

Some Ron Weasley look alike had broken into the Burrow earlier that afternoon and from what Dumbledore had gathered, it had been within several minutes of the strange appearance at Grimmauld Place.

It was worrisome, but Harry felt annoyed more than anything else.

Dumbledore had an irksome habit of slowly revealing information, reasoning that information was more thoroughly dissected and discussed if not all presented at one time. Harry just thought it was a waste of time. Moody's ridiculous Imperius theory would have never taken off if Dumbledore would have just decided to discuss everything at once like a normal human being. There was no question of Ron Weasley being under the Imperius Curse because the bloke that broke into the Burrow was currently locked up in one of the rooms upstairs.

There was going to be an interrogation that night.

Fred and George had been lounging in the living room at the Burrow when Ron—or rather someone who looked like Ron—came barging in demanding to know what was going on. Normally the twins wouldn't be disturbed by this behavior from Ron, the guy was an angry drunk, but they had just seen Ron—looking different—heading towards the pub not five minutes before. Things turned ugly quickly. The intruder began flinging curses at the twins but in the end, George hit him with a Stunner when the bloke started going on about Fred's supposed death. George still looked a little shaken up about the whole thing. Fred had to finish telling the story to the Order alone.

After verifying that the actual Ron was indeed in town getting wasted, the twins magically bound the intruder, notified Dumbledore, and brought him in to Headquarters.

Moody applauded the twin's actions, but refused to acknowledge that Harry had been quite possibly right. It figured though, Moody tended to only compliment fellow Aurors, which the twins just so happened to be.

Either way, the whole incident was strange—very strange—especially when coupled with the incident at Headquarters. And just like Headquarters, the Burrow was under the Fidelius Charm and its wards remained perfectly intact. Bill, the Order's ward expert, and Dumbledore were completely flummoxed.

"I attempted to interrogate the young man, but I'm afraid I was unsuccessful in obtaining his true identity," Dumbledore said, "or his intentions."

"Is this why you asked for the Veritaserum?" Harry's mum asked. She was the Order's Potioneer and had a variety of potions and brews stocked up at home in her laboratory.

"It is. I trust that you brought the Calming Draught as well? The young man seemed very disturbed."

Harry's mum nodded and pulled two vials from the inside pocket of her robes. “Who’s going to administer it?”

“I am,” Bill said, standing. His face was set as he approached Harry’s mum for the two vials. Harry’s mum nodded in understanding as she handed them over.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, glancing at the clock. "Anyone who wishes to stay for the interrogation may. You are otherwise dismissed since it’s becoming rather late. The next meeting is currently scheduled for the sixth of August. We will discuss any conclusions which are reached at that time unless I find it necessary to inform you all before then. Please pass it along to those whom are not here. In the mean time, be safe and be alert for anything unusual."

Several people made to stand and Harry turned to his parents who were sharing the sofa with him. "We're staying, right?"

His parents looked at each other and then nodded at Harry in unison. They always did that, silent communication. "Jude should be alright for a while longer," his mum said.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Someone might suddenly break through the Fidelius Charm."

"Don't say that," his mum admonished.

Harry's retort was lost when he felt someone rustling his hair. He ducked his head away and twisted around to find Sirius standing behind him, chuckling. "I knew it wasn't you," he said.

"Yeah,” Harry grumbled sarcastically. “Thanks for your undying support."

"You didn't need my support. You handled it just fine," Sirius said with a wink.

Harry turned back around and rolled his eyes.

"You knew about this other intruder?" Harry heard his dad ask.

"We didn't know the details," said Remus who was standing next to Sirius behind the sofa. "You know how Albus is."

"Yeah," Harry's dad said, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what's more worrisome, Harry being Imperiused and Obliviated or someone breaking through the wards."

Harry didn't know either. He was just happy the Order wasn't deluding them selves anymore.

While his parents had a quiet discussion with Sirius and Remus, Harry looked around the room in attempt to see who was staying. He automatically sought out Neville, his best mate. They had been friends since Harry could remember and had become even closer when they had both been sorted into Gryffindor together. Their eyes met and Neville gave him a brief nod, which Harry returned. The Longbottoms were staying then. No surprises there. Bill Weasley was discussing something with Dumbledore, but the twins were now gone. Moody was in a conversation with Gideon and Fabian. Kingsley, Tonks, and McGonagall had already left. Dedalus, Dung, Cedric, and Hestia were nearing the door.

Then an angry voice filtered through the ceiling.

"DON'T TOUCH ME YOU SICK BASTARDS!"

Harry eyed the ceiling in surprise and immediately exchanged a look with Neville. That was definitely Ron Weasley's voice—impostor or not.

"GET OFF OF—“

The voice abruptly cut off—by what, Harry didn't know. Then everyone's attention was brought to by Dumbledore clearing his throat. "For those who wish to leave, I'd suggest they do so now. Fred and George should be bringing our visitor down any moment now."

Those standing near the door hastened to leave. Harry heard their quickened steps down the stairway and out the front door. Then a door upstairs banged opened and the voices of the Weasley twins floated down the stairs.

"Blimey."

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

"You can say that again. Are my ears still on? I can't feel them."

_Thud. Thud._

"Still on—Oi! His feet are dragging."

"Whoops."

The thudding stopped and twins came through the door a moment later. And there behind them was none other then Ron Weasley, unconscious and floating. His limp hovering body appeared lankier then ever. His arms were magically bound behind his back. His head lolled to one side and  _smacked_  against the side of the door frame as his body passed through the doorway.

"Whoops," George said at the sound. He spun around and lowered Ron closer to the ground. "Can't seem to get the hang of this."

"Merlin you two," Bill said.

"I'd like to see you try. The bloke is no Flitwick."

"Yeah, we would have walked him down but he's a bit of a fighter."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said to the twins. "We will sit him over here." He gestured towards a hard backed chair that sat directly across from Harry.

George guided Ron into the chair while Fred added magical ties to bind him to it. When they were done they took their previous seats. Ron would really need to crank his head to the left to see them, but maybe the twins preferred it this way. They had never really got on with Ron, but Harry could imagine how strange this would be for them.

"He looks just like him," Gideon said, staring at the unconscious look alike.

"Yeah," Fred said warily. "And you've only seen him Stunned."

"Molly would have kittens is she saw this," Fabian added.

The twins snorted. "Why'd you think we brought him here?" Fred said. "Mum doesn't need this stress."

"I don't understand," Neville's dad said, frowning. "It can't possibly be Polyjuice, it's been—what?—a few hours already?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I attempted to remove any disguises during my interrogation earlier. And as you can see, I was unsuccessful." Dumbledore paused and looked thoughtful. "I am curious to see what his reactions will be to everyone in this room. He seemed both frightened and angered by my appearance."

"Did he think you were dead too?" George muttered.

"He didn't voice that thought if he had it. In fact, he didn't say much at all," Dumbledore said, frowning. "I shall give him another chance, however, before we give him the Veritaserum." He pointed his wand at the look alike and said, " _Ennervate_."

The spell worked quickly and with his head still hung forward, the look alike let out a loud groan. “Bloody hell," he then croaked and Harry felt his arms prickle with unease. It had been some time—at least a year—since Harry had seen Ron. Harry had no reason to see him, they didn't get along, but he'd still recognize him. Hell, he had shared a dormitory with the bloke for seven years, of course he'd still recognize him. And this guy—bound to the chair in front of Harry—was Ron. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind. The bloke’s scowl was even the same and he would know. That scowl had been frequently directed at him when they had been at Hogwarts together.

Even if the bloke had used Polyjuice, it would have been impossible to imitate that expression so perfectly…

It didn't make any sense. What in Merlin's name was going on?

He was still trying to figure it all out when Ron’s head suddenly shot up. His eyes were wide and Harry was the first thing they locked onto. And Harry felt his breathing hitch because the scowl he had been studying so closely vanished and something completely unexpected flickered through Ron’s blue eyes in its place…

Relief. And love.

But they were quickly replaced by confusion. "Harry?" Ron said uncertainly.

Harry felt his throat go dry. It was all happening so fast and he didn't know what to say—hell, he didn't even know what to  _think_. This guy—whoever he was _trusted_  him. But why? How? Harry had no idea and he could feel everyone staring at him, waiting for a reply.

Ron, however, didn't wait for an answer. He was beginning to notice everyone else in room. His eyes grew impossibly wide as he looked at Harry's parents and his breathing seemed to quicken when his gaze shifted to Remus and Sirius standing behind them. Then he blurted out a weak and incredulous sounding, "Neville?" and made a strangled noise when he saw Neville's parents. When his gaze fell upon Moody, Gideon, and Fabian, he let out a choked sob.

"I see that you are already familiar with some of us," Dumbledore said gently.

Ron whipped his head towards the Headmaster and his chest heaved, his breathing quickened further. His eyes then narrowed into a glare. "You again!" he spat angrily. "What do you want from me?"

"Just your cooperation," Dumbledore said calmly.

"I already told you who I am!"

"You are not Ronald Weasley."

Ron let out a sob, and then he stared at Harry again. There was only hurt, anger, and confusion left in those blue eyes. "Oh god," he choked out.

"Albus," Harry's mum said. "Is this necessary?"

"It might be a ploy, Lily," Neville's mum reasoned.

"Or it might not be," his mum snapped.

Ron seemed oblivious to the interaction; he was shaking, sobbing, and hyperventilating. It was becoming unbearable to watch.

Dumbledore, at least, had the decency to look ashamed under Harry's mum's gaze. "Go on," he said to Bill.

Bill stood and uncorked the bottle he was holding. "We are going to do this either way," he said when he was next to Ron. "Easy or hard… your choice."

Ron stilled at Bill's voice. Then he looked up at him and there was even more confusion and hurt etched all over his tear tracked face. "Bill?" he said, sounding hesitant.

Bill's jaw visibly tightened. He held up the bottle of Veritaserum.

Ron's eyes widened. He pressed his lips firmly together and frantically shook his head. The twins jumped up from their seats and held Ron's head tipped back in place. Bill pinched Ron's nose.

For a minute nothing happened. Ron stubbornly kept his mouth shut with his face turning more puce with each passing second.

"Give it up," Bill growled and Ron's resolve gave out. His mouth opened wide and he took in a long desperate breath. Bill tipped the vial and one—two—three drops of potion fell down Ron's throat. Ron sputtered and spat, but it was no use. Only one drop needed to make it down his throat.

It happened quickly. Ron seemed to melt away from the twins hold. His eyes glazed over and his mouth hung slack. Bill exchanged a look with the twins and the three of them returned to their seats.

"Now then," Dumbledore said, looking weary. He knelt in front of Ron, but not directly so. Harry could still see the Headmaster's profile. "Can you hear me?"

Ron looked at Dumbledore with a vacant expression and nodded.

"Very good. Now what is your name?"

"Ron Weasley," was the toneless reply.

Dumbledore frowned. The twins and Bill exchanged uncomfortable looks. "We're sure the potion was brewed correctly?" Moody questioned.

"Of course it was," Harry's dad said.

"It seems to be working as it should," Dumbledore said mildly. He then returned his attention to Ron. "Who are your parents?"

"Arthur and Molly Weasley."

"Where do you live?"

"The Burrow—right outside of Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon."

Dumbledore's eyes widened at the last proclamation. Several worried and shocked expressions were exchanged within the room, but Harry was hardly surprised. He was growing more and more convinced that this was indeed Ron Weasley.

He couldn't explain it, he just  _knew_. In fact, he would have only been surprised if a different name had slipped out of Ron's lips. Harry wasn't intrigued by this guy's identity. He was intrigued by something else entirely.  Without properly thinking, Harry spoke up, cutting through the shocked silence.

"How do you know me?"

Everyone’s eyes shifted to him, but he didn't meet anyone's gaze. He was looking directly at Ron who was staring right back, and yet there was struggle going on within those blue eyes…

Was Ron fighting the potion?

Harry had to wonder because he hadn’t asked a difficult question. Yet time stretched on as Harry patiently waited for an answer—any answer. They went to Hogwarts together where they were both in Gryffindor. They first met at Neville's and Harry's joint seventh birthday party. They were in detention together for duelling in the hallway third year— _anything_.

But no answer came and the struggle was still present in Ron's eyes.

"Answer Mr. Potter's question," Dumbledore said firmly.

Ron turned and looked momentarily at the Headmaster. Something must have clicked in Ron's mind then because when he looked back to Harry, the battle within his eyes was gone. His reply was two simple, unexpected words.

"I don't."


	7. Puzzles

Not a moment passed between Apparating to Diagon Alley, muttering  _Muffliato_  with a flick of his wand, and hearing Hermione's frantic words.

"We're—How is this—we're in another dimension!"

"Yeah," Harry said, thankful she had cottoned on. "You wouldn't happen to know how to get back to our own, would you?"

"No," she said hysterically. "I don't! It's not supposed to be possible!"

"Haven't you learnt anything from hanging out with me over the years?"

"This isn't funny, Harry." She stamped her foot in frustration. "I've been all over England trying to figure out what was going on. At first I thought I—or we—had gone back in time and I didn't know if I was the only one and I couldn't find anyone and then I found a Prophet—but this—this, Harry— _oh god_ —this isn't  _possible!_ "

Harry gave her a rueful smile. "Calm down," he said gently. "People are staring."

There weren't many people still shopping. It was becoming late in the day and many of the shops already looked to be closed, but Hermione's wild hand gestures were still attracting some attention. She looked around and took a deep shuttering breath. "Diagon Alley?" She said. "Are you sure we should be somewhere so…public?"

"Zabini is here—at Fortescue's—waiting in case the others show. Besides, no one gives me a second look here."

"No one knows you?" she said in surprise. "But then that means—“

"I know."

And if possible, Hermione looked more worried than before. But her worry quickly morphed into annoyance. "How long has Zabini been at Fortescue's?—I've looked there  _twice_. And where have  _you_  been, I've been looking everywhere!"

"We've must have been missing each other," he said, gesturing her to follow him. They began striding down Diagon Alley together as he began explaining his afternoon. She gave him a sympathetic look when he got to Sirius and Remus. Then her eyes grew impossibly wide as he mentioned the Order meeting.

"So it's true," Hermione whispered. "He's still here..." She took in the shops and people of Diagon Alley with a furrowed brow. "But why does everything seem so  _normal_?"

"Because he's not out in the open—or maybe he is dead. I don't know. The Lovegood's didn't seem to know much—“

"The Lovegoods?"

"Yeah, I went there looking for Luna and I found her along with parents—yes,  _both_  of her parents and her counterpart," he added when she gave him an inquiring look. "I asked them about You-Know-Who and—don’t give me that look. I'm taking no chances. We don't need another Malfoy—Augh! If he isn't up ahead I swear I'm going to—“

"Harry!" Hermione said sharply. "Focus."

"Right," he said, shaking his head. "Sorry." So much had happened that he needed to convey to her and his thoughts were disorganized and confused. "Wait, there's Fortescue's up ahead. We should find Zabini first. He'll want to know as well."

The fewer times Harry had to explain this, the better.

But Hermione seemed to have other plans. She reached out and grabbed his arm causing him to stumble to a halt. When he turned to look at her questioningly, he found desperation etched all over her face. "You haven't found Ron have you?  _Our_  Ron?" she clarified unnecessarily.

"No," he said quietly. "That's why I was following the other Ron. I couldn't find the Burrow."

"Neither could I," she said anxiously.

"I—I wasn't thinking. I was just so happy to find you. I should have asked Mr. Weasley or—“

Hermione shook her head at him. "We're not going to find him that way. You know that, Harry."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and blew out one long breath. "We'll find him, okay?" he said with as much confidence as he could muster. "He might even be up ahead at Fortescue's." Hermione gave him a weak smile and nodded, but her eyes were brimming now with tears.

"Come on," he said, pulling her aside. "Over here." They leaned against a length of wall where they stood in silence. This past year, he had learned Hermione only allowed herself to lose control around a handful of people and Zabini was not included on that short list. He was giving her time to compose herself. After a long minute had passed, Harry glanced at her. A single tear was slowly escaping down her cheek and as Harry watched a nagging thought returned to him.

"Hermione," he said carefully. "There's something I need to ask you…you know, without Zabini being around."

Hermione wiped her cheek and looked over her shoulder at him, urging him to continue with a nod.

"'The Calling of the Phoenix'...have you read it?"

"The children's story?" she said, taken aback.

"Yeah," he said, nodding.

"Yes, I've…" Then she trailed off and her eyes grew round. "Harry! You can't possibly be considering this!"

"Just hear me out, okay?"

Hermione crossed her arms and pursed her lips, but didn't say anything. Harry took his cue. "Fawkes was flying towards us moments before we disappeared and I found a feather—a big red one—on the ground at Grimmauld Place. It was only feet from where I landed."

Hermione, though, didn't look convinced. Any hint of sadness had vanished from her expression. "Did the Lovegoods put you on this?"

"Yes," he grumbled.

"How did I guess?" Hermione scoffed. "Look Harry, I  _know_  the whole Deathly Hallows thing was real, but that doesn't mean every children's story is literal. ’The Calling of the Phoenix' is about hope, about not giving up even when things seem—“

"Impossible?" Harry finished.

Hermione let out a short laugh. "Yes. But in a metaphorical sense."

"Don't worry, I don't really believe it—I don't  _want_  to believe it."

Hermione's expression softened and it had too much understanding in it for Harry's comfort. "Come on,” she said, “it's getting late."

If Harry was honest with himself, he wasn't really expecting anyone other than Zabini at Fortescue's and judging by Hermione behavior, she wasn't either. But when they spotted Zabini sitting at a table—alone—lazily twirling a spoon in what looked to be a half empty ice cream dish, Harry's stomach plummeted and Hermione let out a pitiful groan.

Ron and Malfoy were officially lost in this world.

Zabini was scowling as he scanned his surroundings and his expression only deepened when he spotted them. He dropped his spoon and met them in the street. "Unbelievable," Zabini greeted. "You were gone all of this time and you only managed to find Granger?"

"It's nice to see you too," Hermione said bitingly.

"I found Luna as well," Harry said quickly, trying to ward off a fight. "She wanted to stay with her parents. She has a coin."

"So they know then? That we aren't from here?" Zabini asked. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"It's fine—don't worry about it. We should go back to that alleyway. I don't want us to be overheard."

As they walked, Harry desperately tried to organize his jumbled thoughts, but the short walk to the alleyway was not enough time to do so. He felt even more overwhelmed when he realized both Zabini and Hermione were watching him, clearly waiting for him to begin. And that's when it hit him, that there he was again being a leader when he didn't want to be. He pushed down the surge of annoyance though and cast another  _'Muffliato_ ' over the alleyway. He had more important concerns.

"Okay, so more likely then not, You-Know-Who is still alive."

"Which we already figured," Zabini said with his arms crossed, “based on that 'Order' comment."

"Right," Harry said, nodding once. "I asked the Lovegood's about him and according to them, he mysteriously disappeared about twenty years ago."

"Mysteriously disappeared?" Hermione said and then she gasped in realization. "Harry! No one  _knows_  you."

"That's right," Zabini said. "There's no Boy-With-A-Scar in this dimension."

"But why would he just vanish?" Hermione said as Harry shot Zabini a look. "That was during his height of his power—twenty years ago. Perhaps someone else destroyed him?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "Maybe. Point is, the general public doesn't know, hence the mystery. But there have been some rumors of his return milling about."

"What sort of rumors?" Hermione asked.

"Again, I don't know,” Harry said, feeling more and more clueless. “We're going to have to do some research. Maybe we can go through old newspapers tomorrow."

"I can hardly wait," Zabini drawled.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's something we need to do anyway. The more we know about this world the better."

"I know, I know," Harry said. "But first we need to find Ron and Malfoy. We're not doing anything else until we do."

Hermione didn’t reply right away. She worried her lip and exchanged a fleeting look with Zabini. "Harry,” she began uncertainly, “I don't know if that's going to be possible."

"Of course it is," he said more firmly than he felt. They couldn't give up now. "We just have to think this through. Okay. I appeared at Grimmauld Place, Zabini at his flat, Luna at her home, and Hermione—you appeared back at your flat, right?"

Hermione exchanged another look with Zabini before letting out a begrudging sigh. "I did," she said. "A young couple lives there—Muggles."

"I know. I met them when I went looking for you," he said, nodding. "Okay, so I think it's safe to assume Ron and Malfoy appeared at the Burrow and the Manor. The Burrow must be under the Fidelius because both Hermione and I couldn't find it."

"Grimmauld Place as well," Hermione added. "I couldn't find it when I searched earlier."

Harry nodded again, he had suspected as much. "Then there's Malfoy Manor…"

"Which I have already told you is off limits," Zabini said. "That is a disaster waiting to happen."

"So then what do we do? Not look for Malfoy at all?" Harry snapped. " _Your_  plan obviously didn't work out. He never showed up!"

"And what exactly is it that you wish to do?" Zabini said coolly. "You think the Malfoy's will welcome you with open arms like the Lovegood's?"

"No. It's just we haven't even __looked__. We could at least go looking around Wiltshire for him."

Zabini opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it with a sigh. "I already did."

"You what?" Harry said indignantly. "You were meant to stay here, in case anyone showed up! What if Ron or Malfoy—“

"Or me," Hermione, interjected. "This is really explaining a lot."

"Look," Zabini said in irritation. "You were taking  _forever_  and I was only gone for ten bloody minutes. There's this cafe in town Draco frequents, so I thought I check there and ask around. It obviously didn't work out."

"And the Manor?" Harry asked.

Zabini rolled his eyes and head in annoyance. "You're a bigger idiot than I thought, Potter."

"You have a better chance than Hermione or me!"

"And why is that? Because we were in Slytherin together? Just because we're dorm mates in our world doesn't mean anything about this one. Besides, if Weasley or Draco had any experience as our own, I doubt either of them are where they originally landed."

Harry let out a noise of frustration. He could see Zabini's first point, but he was beginning to doubt the second. The idea of Malfoy landing himself in a home full of Death Eaters kept playing through his mind. Had Malfoy been able to escape? And then there was Ron. If Ron had landed at the Burrow unexpectedly, what would he have done? Harry honestly didn't know, Ron was a lose cannon. But the more time that passed, the more he dreaded the answer and his meeting with Mr. Weasley and this world's Ron did little to improve these feelings of dread. Had Mr. Weasley been searching for Ron because something had happened? Harry was beginning to think it was very possible.

And it seemed Hermione agreed with him.

"I don't know, Zabini," she said. "I think it's still a possibility—I mean, I don't know about Malfoy, but I've looked  _everywhere_  for Ron. And if you think about it we were lucky really. You and I were sent to places that were obviously no longer our homes. Nor did we have to fend off people we thought we knew. And Harry—“

"Fought off a couple of dead people," Zabini said causing Hermione to wince. “But that doesn't mean anything. We have no evidence suggesting that Weasley or Draco are still where they landed. We don't even know for sure  _where_  they landed. It's all speculation. And we're not risking anything on speculation."

"Remind me never to rely on you," Harry said, bristling.

"You have Weasley and Granger for that," Zabini said unfazed. "I'm here to hex some logic into you."

"And what I'm saying  _is_  logical," Hermione argued. "Don't you think Malfoy would have come back to Fortescue's by now if he could?" Zabini didn't answer, he looked down and shrugged. "And as for Ron, I'm nearly positive he's been captured."

Harry's stomach did an odd sort of flip. "Captured?" he repeated. "You think the Weasley's are holding him hostage?"

"I don't know, Harry. What would you have done if someone that looked like you—or your son or brother—popped into your home? A home that is heavily warded. You'd probably not let them escape, right?"

She was right. Of course she was, but it didn't make him feel any better. He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a frustrated sigh.

"Probably this, probably that," Zabini said, looking back up. "We still don't know anything for sure."

"Well I do know one thing for sure," Hermione said hotly as her cheeks tinged pink. "Ron always has the Deluminator with him in case we get separated. And we’re obviously separated and he obviously hasn't used it."

Harry blinked at Hermione, unsure if he had heard her right. Then Zabini quietly snorted and Harry had to duck his head to hide a smile of his own. He had wondered what Ron had done with the Deluminator, the gift that Dumbledore bequeathed to him and the very thing that led Ron back to Harry and Hermione after the trio's split. Ron, however, had never brought up the object and Harry didn't feel it was his place to ask.

This confirmed it though, his best mate was whipped.

"Don't you dare say anything to him," Hermione chastised.

Zabini let out another snort and Harry grinned. "Oh you bet your knickers I'm going to say something."

"Well I think it's sweet."

"Yeah, too bad it's not doing us much good."

Hermione bit her lip. "I know," she said anxiously.

"Maybe he lost it?" Zabini said. "Sounds like something Weasley would do."

Hermione shook her head. "No, he can't of. He keeps it in a charmed pocket. It can't fall out and the only person who can remove it is him."

"Ron charmed all of his clothes?" Harry said dubiously.

"It was important to him," Hermione said flippantly.

Harry exchanged a smirk with Zabini. "Important, eh?"

"Would you concentrate? This is serious!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "I was just caught off guard." Hermione rolled her eyes at him before he continued on, "Okay, so if he can't get to the Deluminator, it means he's… tied up—or naked—“

"Or unconscious," Hermione added, her eyes narrowed at Harry.

"Or dead."

The lighter mood that had been slowly building instantly vanished with Zabini's words. Harry glared at Zabini, unwilling to accept this possibility and yet unable to deny it. A heavy silence hung between them until Hermione let out a strangled sort of whimper that goaded Harry into speech.

"He's not dead."

"I was merely listing a possibility," Zabini said.

"No—there's no way," Harry said, shaking his head.

"I don't think he's dead either, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "But I do think he's been captured—Malfoy too, maybe—and if that's the case, we're not going to find them tonight."

"We  _have_  to find them tonight," Harry said. "The longer we wait, the more complicated this gets."

"And how do you reckon we do that?" Hermione challenged. "We can't access the Burrow or the Manor or even the Ministry if the Aurors were called, which I hope to Merlin is  _not_  the case."

"Me too," Zabini muttered.

"We can't get into these places, Harry. Not tonight, without any sort of plan. We need to get a grasp on this world and come up with something. But right now we need to figure out where to stay. As lovely as this alleyway is, I don't think we should sleep here."

Harry groaned. He had been so focused on Ron and Malfoy that he hadn't even been worried about where they would sleep that night. Not that Harry was going to sleep, but he could still appreciate Hermione's point.

"Just as I thought," Hermione clucked. "It's getting late and as much as it pains me to admit, I don't think we're going to find Ron or Malfoy tonight. So maybe we should focus on finding a place to stay right now."

"Yeah, okay," Harry reluctantly agreed.

"One of the smaller inns, perhaps?" Hermione suggested. "There should be Talons and Toes down the way."

"No, you're right," Harry said. "We don't know anything about this world. We should stay low before we know more. Besides, we need to be more careful. Zabini already had a run in with my counterpart and—‘

"You what?" Hermione cried, whipping her head towards Zabini.

"Jealous, Granger?" Zabini drawled.

"What happened? What was he like—this other Harry?"

"A better looking version of  _our_  Potter," Zabini said. "And nothing happened because I Obliviated him."

"You're rather proud of that fact, aren't you?" Harry said.

"I'm just informing Granger that we don't need to worry about him following our tails. At least, that was my intention. You botched it up by running into Lupin and Black."

"Yeah and that's exactly why we can't stay in an inn," Harry said, getting annoyed. "I've also come across Mr. Weasley and this world's Ron."

"And you cast a Patronus," Hermione added, looking suddenly worried.

"You did  _what_?" Zabini snapped. "Are you completely brainless?"

"Dementors. Muggle children," Harry retorted. "Need I say more?"

"Merlin's balls, Potter," Zabini said exasperated. "Can you turn off the heroics for two seconds? Do you know how much attention that's going to bring to you? Did anyone see you do it?"

"Mr. Weasley," Hermione said.

Zabini scowled and muttered a string of words under his breath.

"Tell me then, what I should have done!" Harry said, his temper rising.

"Not be so bloody obvious!" Zabini shot back. "Do you know what will happen to us if they find out we're from another dimension?"

"And you do?" Harry challenged.

"No and I have no desire to find out!"

"Boys," Hermione interjected. "Can we wait to argue until  _after_  we figure out a place to stay?"

"We should obviously stay out of the wizarding world due to Potter's blatant need for attention," Zabini spat, glaring at Harry.

Harry let out a short laugh. "Don't tell me you want to stay with Muggles?"

"You have left us no choice!"

Harry rolled his eyes in response.

"I don't think we can stay at a Muggle establishment either," Hermione said. "I personally don't have much Muggle money on me."

"Nor do I," Harry added.

"And we can't just go waltzing into Gringotts to convert our money over."

Zabini cursed loudly. "I didn't even think about that! We have no access to our funds. We don't even  _exist_  here!"

"Yes we do...or at least Harry does," Hermione said thoughtfully. Zabini, however, looked less than amused.

"We don't need to worry about money," Harry said. And they really didn't. He kept a large amount of gold on him at all times. It was a nightmare for him to go in and out of Gringotts due to the extra security that was required to escort Harry to and from his vault. He stocked up well whenever he went and he had gone to Gringotts only the week before. He would be set for months.

"And why is that?" Zabini asked suspiciously.

"Because I have plenty on me," Harry replied and that’s when he realized he had  _lots_  of things on him.

Inspired by Hermione and desperate to hide the Elder Wand, Harry had charmed his moleskin pouch just as she done with the beaded bag she had carried around the months they had been on the run. Harry hadn't expected it to work, but it had. It had been the last time he had used the Elder Wand before stashing it inside the pouch.

No one could get the wand out besides him.

Then slowly over time, Harry began stashing other things in his pouch in the name of preparation. Hermione, though, called it 'an unhealthy dose of paranoia.'

"You have plenty on you?" Zabini repeated skeptically.

"Yeah…" he said, turning to Hermione, "such as a tent."

Hermione let out a long groan. "There  _has_  to be another option.”

"I'm not staying in a tent, Potter," Zabini said. "And I don't even want to know why you're carrying one around—or where you're keeping it, for that matter."

"Fine," Harry said. "My only other suggestion is staying with the Lovegoods. I'm sure they would be more then happy to host dimensional travelers."

Hermione and Zabini exchanged a pained expression.

"Camping it is," Hermione muttered.

After shopping for food and other supplies at Hermione's insistence, Harry found himself once again setting up camp in the Forest of Dean. It was then that Harry realized Hermione still had a small inclining of hope that Ron was still able to return to them on his own free will. Zabini was under the impression that they were in a random Muggle forest, but the significance was not missed by Harry. Hermione had chosen the location for a reason. And Harry took it as permission to continue his search for Ron and Malfoy.

But it proved to be pointless.

And of course it was, Harry wholeheartedly agreed with Hermione's theory. Yet he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep knowing he hadn't tried. He returned to camp around midnight and was pleasantly surprised to find both Hermione and Zabini waiting up for him. They were both staring absently into the fire. Hermione was the first to notice his arrival; she didn't say anything but her eyes told Harry everything he needed to know.

There was nothing he could say. He could only watch her disappear into the tent.

"No luck then, Potter?" Zabini said as he stood from a plush black chair he must have conjured.

"Nothing," Harry confirmed.

Zabini sighed and looked towards the tent. "We better get some sleep."

But sleep evaded Harry and when he did finally drift off hours later, he dreamt of endless corridors and crimson eyes.

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

A long silence hung in the air after Ron's proclamation.

Harry felt completely thrown. His mind was whirling in confusion. This guy—this Ron— _did_  know him. There was no mistaking the look Ron had given him. Not knowing what else to say and feeling he needed to break the silence, Harry dumbly repeated Ron's words.

"You don't?"

"Potter," Moody growled. "Stay out of this. You are only here to watch."

"Alastor," Dumbledore said. "It is quite alright. Harry's question would have not been my next, but it has certainly raised an interesting issue." He turned back towards Ron. "Mr. Weasley, I must ask, do you know any of us in this room?"

Ron stared blankly at Dumbledore for a moment before shifting his gaze around the room and once again, Harry saw an enormous struggle occurring behind Ron's eyes.

"He's fighting the potion," Gideon exclaimed.

"Don't be ridiculous," Moody barked. "Unless it's brewed incorrectly, it can't be fought."

"The potion is fine," Harry's dad bit out.

"We have evidence to suggest otherwise."

"Shall we test the rest of the batch on you, Moody?" Harry's mum said evenly. "Goodness knows I wouldn't want to give botched Veritaserum to our prisoners."

"Evans," Moody growled and Harry could practically hear his mum roll her eyes. Moody had always reverted back to calling her 'Evans' when he was particularly frustrated with her. The interaction, however, seemed to be causing Ron some distress. He was staring at Harry's mum, looking faint.

"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said loudly, bringing everyone's attention back to the matter at hand. "Do you know any of us in this room?"

But Ron kept looking between Harry's mum and Moody. Then he scrunched his features as if he were in pain and began shaking his head wildly. "N—No!" he cried out, sounding strangled.

Harry exchanged an alarmed look with Neville. This guy—Ron—did know them. All of them, that much was clear based on his previous reaction.

"Yes you do!" Fred yelled. "It's obvious that you recognize all of us! What business do you have at the Burrow! Haven't you done enough damage!?"

"Fred—“

"He is not Fred!" Ron yelled out, cutting off Bill. His features were slack, but his eyes were set. "None of you! Not—anyone—Not Harry—Not Neville—Not Fred—Not—“

Then Ron stopped, seeming to choke on his very next words. His eyes bulged as he fought to speak then a moment later his head rolled back and he began jerking violently in his seat.  

Several cries of concern sounded around the room, but Harry had been stunned into silence. He could only watch in horror as Ron thrashed against the bindings that held him.

Then just as quickly as it started, Ron went still. His head lolled over to one side as his body slouched against the bindings. "Perhaps that is enough for this evening," Dumbledore said, his still wand pointed at Ron.

"Enough?" Neville's mum said incredulously. "I certainly hope so. What in Merlin's name just happened?"

"The young man had a seizure. As to why, well that is a different matter entirely."

"Albus," Harry's mum said. "I swear—the potion…"

Dumbledore held up his hand. "Lily please, I do not think this had anything to do with your potion."

"But uh…" Fabian said hesitantly. "The guy was clearly fighting it. Moody's right, you can't fight a correctly brewed Veritaserum."

"He wasn't fighting at first," Bill said. "When he said his name…"

"You can't really think this bloke is Ron?" George said. "We saw Ron—the  _real_  Ron—in a bloody pub!"

"Then how do you explain this," Bill retorted, gesturing towards Ron. "If he was really an impostor he wouldn't look like Ron anymore! No disguise lasts this long and withstands Revealing Charms."

"He had a different wand!"

"A  _nice_  one," Fred added, "not the rubbish one with the unicorn hair poking out—“

"And he was flinging out curses out like he had done it a time or two—“

"He even got me with a Stinger—Ron's  _never_  done that—“

"And I repeat we saw the  _real_  Ron in a bloody pub!"

"And I repeat," Bill argued with the twins, “no disguise lasts this long and withstands Revealing Charms."

"Gentlemen, please," Dumbledore said, “this is getting us no where."

"I understand, Albus," Bill said. "But you must admit I have a point. If this is an impostor it's a bloody good one."

"But he said he didn't know any of us," Neville said. "Ron would know us."

"He did know us," Harry added. "He recognized all of us…"

"He just didn't want to admit it," his mum said.

"Or he didn't know," Remus added quietly.

Harry whipped his head towards Remus and noticed Sirius shared his confusion. “What?” Harry’s godfather said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No,” Dumbledore exclaimed happily. “It makes perfect sense.”

Harry turned back around and stared at the Headmaster. He was beaming at Remus, obviously thrilled that someone had voiced his thoughts. Harry hated when an Order meeting started to feel like a classroom and it happened all of the bloody time.

"Those were my thoughts exactly, Remus," Dumbledore continued. "The boy doesn't know the truth. His mind lives in a different reality then what he experienced in this room."

"So his mind is addled?" Neville's dad said.

"It is very possible. The only account of Veritaserum causing seizures that I am aware of involves its use on individuals experiencing hallucinations. The battle to determine the actual truth often causes seizure activity in these individuals. This of course means that what this young man shared with us was what he believed to be true."

Harry stared at Dumbledore, more confused then before.

"So this bloke  _thinks_  he's my nephew?" Gideon said.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said nodding.

"Codswallop," Moody said. "You're telling me someone addled his mind into believing he's a Weasley? That still doesn't explain him getting inside the Burrow or  _Potter's_  strange appearance earlier."

"You're right," Dumbledore said. "It does not. I still have yet to reach a conclusion on how those two events occurred… but I do believe the two individuals know each other. It certainly explains why this young man recognized Harry but then claimed to not know him."

"Does that mean you think the bloke that appeared here earlier  _thought_  he was Harry?" Sirius asked.

Dumbledore peered at Sirius over his glasses and gave him a small nod. "I think it's a reasonable conclusion to have reached, but I could be wrong."

"But what's the purpose of that?" Harry's dad demanded. "And as Moody said before, it doesn't explain how they got inside of the wards. Nor does it explain why they look the way they do."

"Nor does it explain how he was able to say the location of the Burrow," Fabian added. "How is it possible that he not only broke through the Fidelius, but is also able to say the location? Ron isn't even the Burrow's Secret Keeper."

A murmur of consent and concern sounded around the room.

"I'm not sure," Bill said. "But the Fidelius around mum and dad's is intact. The charm is still working as it should...it's just not working on  _him_." He awkwardly gestured towards Ron.

"But why?" George said. "We've never had a problem with the charm before."

"I don't think any of us know for sure," Dumbledore said, "It is one of the many riddles of the day that I have yet to solve. From the breached wards that remain intact to—let us not forget—Harry being Obliviated. I have yet to conclude if that was a random mishap or if that too fits somewhere in this ever growing puzzle." He sighed, looking older and more tired than before. "I'm afraid I have no conclusive answers right now. This was all quite unexpected and during such a troublesome time…"

"So what are we going to do?" Sirius asked.

"We go home and get some rest. I know of some literature I'd like to consult before I reexamine our dilemma with a fresh mind. I don't think we will be reaching any answers tonight. I'm afraid I was relying on this young man to answer many of our questions, instead he has raised more of them."

"And what do we do with him exactly? You want me to keep him here at Headquarters?"

"I think that is the wisest course of action until we know more. Perhaps he will be more willing to talk about his situation tomorrow."

Both of the twins snorted. "Not likely," Fred said.

"Do you think he needs to remain tied up?" Sirius asked.

"Sirius!" Harry's mum exclaimed. "I think he's been through enough."

"What? You heard the bloke earlier."

"Keep him tied," Moody said. "There's no telling what he'll do."

"And that's really going to encourage him to open up and tell us his life story," Harry's mum said sarcastically.

"He's doesn’t get a choice!" Moody barked. "We're in a war, Evans! And we're on the losing side if you haven't noticed. This scum broke into one of our safe houses. We don't need to be taking any chances!"

The room went silent after Moody's tirade because in the end he was right. Even Harry's mum couldn't say otherwise. They  _were_  in a war—a silent, underground war—and the other side was winning. But how were they supposed to defeat something that hid so well? How were they supposed to kill something that allegedly couldn’t die?

The Order didn't know. No one did.

So far, they had only managed to hold off their eventual demise. Winning had never seemed like an option to Harry, he had only hoped to avoid a full fledged defeat.

The Order didn't need to be dealing with these two strange appearances. There were so many other things to worry about. The rampant use of the Imperius Curse. The daily attacks on Muggles all over England and throughout scattered parts of Europe. The sudden increase of Dementors throughout the countryside…

And the wizarding public didn't know a thing. Daily life continued per usual, despite the tragedy that ensued.

Then, of course, there were the Death Eaters hidden among everyone else—firmly planted within wizarding society—impossible to remove. And then there was You-Know-Who, their enemy, safely hidden away along with the rumors of his immortality and his equally immortal son.

There were so many things to worry about and Harry was just one person. He could only do so much…

The Order could only do so much.

"I think it's best that we keep him here," Dumbledore said quietly. "And to keep him tied up for now. That is all we can do at the moment. As for the other strange occurrence today, please remain diligent in the upcoming days and watch for any unusual events or persons."

"Stun anyone that looks like Harry," Gideon said, trying to make light of the situation. "Got it."

Dumbledore smiled politely. "That is one way to approach the situation." he said, “but for now, let us call it a night. Let me know if you think of any possibilities and I shall do the same."

Slowly, people began leaving. Harry left without his parents, knowing they'd want to stay to talk to Remus and Sirius. Perhaps it was because he had been Obliviated earlier or maybe it was because so much had happened that day, but the idea of rehashing out the days events  _again_  made his head throb. He was inwardly happy that Dumbledore had ended the meeting. They could run circles all night, but in the end the day's events were a mystery.

A mystery he hoped to solve tomorrow after a much needed headache tonic and some sleep. But sleep didn't come easily to him that night. Black smoke and green eyed strangers plagued his dreams and kept him tossing all night long.


	8. A New Day, A New Lead

"Welcome home, Harry."

Harry jolted awake with a start. Panic coursed through him, but there was an entirely different emotion lingering underneath—comfort. Confused, he squinted his eyes shut, trying to remember his dream.

_'Home?_ '

All Harry could remember were endless corridors, empty rooms, and crimson eyes…

Bloody hell, he was back to dreaming about Voldemort again. Except this Voldemort wasn't the snake-like man Harry had known, this one had been  _nice_ …

Harry groaned and kicked the covers off of him. There was no way he'd be able to go to back to sleep after _that_ revelation. Fortunately, he had things to do.

Still wearing his clothes from the day before, he quietly slipped out of bed and into his shoes. He snuck out of the tent, past a sleeping Hermione and Zabini, and Apparated to Upper Flagley, a Muggle and wizarding community in Yorkshire. Last night when he was unable to sleep, he had come up with a plan of sorts. He needed to search for clues—any hint of Malfoy and Ron—and he reckoned the Daily Prophet would be a good starting place. The fact the Prophet would also help him better understand this world was just an added benefit.

He strode down the streets of Upper Flagley easily. With no one gawking at him, with no one trying to chat him up, finding the paper was ridiculously quick and easy. It was then that he realized he was going to quite like the fact that his counterpart was a normal bloke. It certainly made sneaking about much easier.

Hermione and Zabini were still sleeping when he appeared back at camp, so Harry took it upon himself to make the group breakfast. Ten minutes later he was sitting cross legged on the forest floor with a bacon sandwich in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other.

Strange dream aside, it was turning out to be a pretty good morning…

But then he unrolled the newspaper at the same exact moment he took his first bite and he promptly began to choke.

He coughed and he sputtered and he pounded wildly on his chest and he knew he could only blame himself. He should have known better than to read the Daily Prophet whilst eating.

"Harry!" Hermione called out from the tent in alarm.

"Granger," Zabini groaned from the tent. "Keep it down."

"Don't you hear that? Harry? Oh where is he?"

_'I'm out here choking,'_  Harry thought morosely. He pounded on his chest some more as he stood and fumbled around for his wand. The sound of blood began pulsing in his ears…

"The only thing I hear is you waking me up," Zabini said, yawning.

"Oh sod—Harry!" Hermione said, now emerging from the tent and if Harry could he would have sighed in relief. Hermione took in the scene with wide eyes—the bacon still sizzling over the small fire, the Daily Prophet scattered all over the forest floor, and Harry gesturing wildly to his throat. "Oh god," she said, frantically reaching inside her robes for her wand. She whipped it out, pointed it at his throat, and cried out, " _Anapneo!_ "

Harry drew in long breaths as his airway cleared. "Umbridge," he wheezed out. His hand finally found his wand and he clutched it tightly. "Umbridge—Minister!"

Hermione looked at him in confusion as he had another small coughing fit. Then she glanced down at the newspaper and finally seemed to understand, but her reaction was hardly one Harry was expecting.

"Oh! That's why you were choking."

"Did you not just hear what I said?" he said incredulously, his voice still hoarse. "Umbridge is the Minister of Magic in this world!"

"I know," she said, waving him off as she bent over to pick up the strewn pieces of newspaper. "Zabini told me last night while you were off,”—she looked up at him and gestured towards the forest—“doing your thing.”

Of course, he realized. Zabini had read the Prophet yesterday, but this was hardly the 'tripe' Harry had been imagining. But wait—Zabini hadn't been the only one that had read the Prophet yesterday...

"Where did you get this?" Hermione said. Her eyes were narrowed suspiciously at him as she arranged the newspaper back in place.

"Upper Flagley—I was looking for news of Ron or Malfoy—But Hermione, I thought you got a hold of a Prophet yesterday?"

"I didn't  _read_ it," she said, deflating a bit and Harry could practically feel her guilt. "I only looked at the date—I had already read yesterday's Prophet in our world. It didn't occur to me that it would be different. But if I had..."

"It wouldn't have changed anything," he said firmly. "Not if Ron never left the Burrow, right?"

Hermione bit her lip and nodded once. "Did you find anything in here about them?"

Harry shook his head as he sat back down. He picked up his sandwich, but then had second thoughts about it. "No. I never got past the front page. Augh—bloody Umbridge! I cannot believe this! How did  _she_  become the Minister of Magic?"

"That's what I'm hoping to find out," she said, joining him on the ground, "along with a few other things, of course. I mean, who knows what else has changed—if what the Lovegood's said is true, that he vanished nearly twenty years ago. The divergence point could have easily occurred before we were even born!"

"Divergence point?"

"Don't you know anything, Potter?"

Harry craned his head around to find Zabini emerging from the tent.

"I know you're a useless twit," Harry said evenly.

"Oh I hardly think a mere piece of bacon should be any trouble for you,” Zabini said as he waved his wand and conjured the same plush black chair he had been sitting in the night before. "You are the Boy Who Lived, after all."

"The ground won't kill you," Harry responded irritability.

"We're wizards, Potter," Zabini deadpanned. Then he sat down and made a show of making himself comfortable. "Now where were we? Ah yes, the divergence point. That would be the point in time in which our world and this world diverged—or separated into two, if you prefer. Anything beforehand will obviously be the same as our own world and anything after has the potential to be different."

"That's right," Hermione confirmed. "And Harry, if your counterpart doesn't have a scar..."

"Then basically we know nothing," Harry said. "Great. Awesome." He took an angry bite out of his bacon sandwich and wished he could go back to sitting there alone.

"You're forgetting we have knowledge—lots of it, actually—of events that occurred long before we were born," Hermione added. "We're not completely clueless, but you're right. Anything that has happened in our lifetime wouldn't have happened here. This is why we need to do this research."

Harry agreed, but there was something that he was still failing to comprehend. "But how exactly is this research going to help us find Ron and Malfoy?"

Hermione sighed, but Harry didn't miss the small glance she exchanged with Zabini. "It will allow us to know what we're up against," she said matter of factly.

"And then what?" he pushed suspiciously. "We'll still have all of those wards to deal with and we still won't know where they actually are—I'm all for this plan, but only if you explain to me how it's going to help. Otherwise, I'm going back out there to look for them because—“

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Potter," Zabini said. "You are not going to find them. We've been through this!"

"I’m just trying to understand!"

"Harry," Hermione said. "As I said before, we need to understand what we are up against. And—oh who am I kidding—I think—“

"Don't you dare!" Zabini snapped.

"And I think," Hermione repeated loudly, "that we might need to go to the Order—“

"Oh here we go."

"Would you shut up," Hermione snapped at Zabini.

"We had an agreement, Granger."

"He was never going to fall for it! I told you that last night!"

"Go for what?" Harry demanded. He was trying to make sense of their conversation and then suddenly he got it. "The Order? Your plan is to go to the Order?"

"As a last bloody resort, Potter," Zabini said. "I'm still not on board with this."

"And  _only_ ," Hermione emphasized, "after we understand this world."

Harry was still trying to process it all; he was speaking as he thought. "You want to go to the Order so they can help us find Ron and—Wait! Hermione, the Weasley's are  _in_  the Order. What if they took Ron to Headquarters and—“

He stopped as Zabini and Hermione exchanged a look. How were they not excited by this? Never mind that, it was obvious that they had discussed this the night before and why in the hell hadn't they told him? And how had he not thought of this on his own? It was so bloody obvious.

"I think that there's a good chance they aren't actually," Hermione said carefully. "You are forgetting your influence, Harry. Who's to say the Weasley's would have joined the war effort back home if you weren't were so close to them."

"I hardly think they joined the Order for my sake," Harry said hotly.

Hermione sighed. "Regardless, the Weasley's joined the Order after You-Know-Who's return which didn't happen here. We also saw Mr. Weasley and this world's Ron last night when there was a supposed Order meeting going on."

"At a supposed time that we don't know!"

"No, I suppose we don't. But the Ron we saw was in no state to be attending any meetings last night, or today for that matter."

"Fine," Harry relented. "But it's still worth checking out. I have access to Grimmauld Place—“

"Absolutely not," Zabini interrupted.

"Harry," Hermione chimed in, "we don't know if Ron is there—in fact, I'm nearly positive he isn't. Grimmauld Place is under the Fidelius. They would have had to compromise security and given him the secret in order for him to be there."

"But still," Harry argued. "I have access—it can't hurt—“

"No," Hermione said firmly. "They would have figured out by now that you were not the Harry of this world. There is no telling what sort of security they have added since then—“

"And will continue to add! Hermione, come on! I could have checked last night!"

"And you would have been facing the entire Order. And for what?" Hermione snapped. "Maybe possibility finding Ron based on assumptions?"

"Don't you think that's worth it?" Harry cried out.

"No!" Hermione said shrilly. "Because I don't think he's there! And even if he was it's too big of a risk. What if—“ She paused and took a deep breath. "Harry, what if you were caught?" He was about to retort, but her beseeching look made him reconsider. "I don't want you to be used."

"Used?" Harry repeated and finally he understood. "You think the Order is going to use me?"

"You don't think they wouldn't?"

"They’d be idiots not to," Zabini added. "One savior delivered on a golden platter coming right up."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and shrugged in response, but deep down he agreed with Zabini. The dread that had been rooted in his stomach since yesterday sprouted up again.

"I don't know if we're going to need the Order," Hermione continued quietly. "But I think between finding Ron and Malfoy and a way home that we're going to need help and the Order is our most likely candidate right now. But Harry, if we do go for help it will be on  _our_  terms. I'm not subjecting us to that situation without knowing what this world is like. That being said, I don't know how kindly they will take to us if you keep popping in and out of their headquarters on your every whim."

Harry nodded glumly. He desperately wanted to find Ron, but he could see now the irrationality of his plan. He had no choice other than to go along with Hermione's.

The three of them finished breakfast in silence. Hermione searched the Prophet for any word on Ron or Malfoy, but there was none. There was only bland worthless news that made Harry less than excited to spend his day reading newspapers.

Afterwards, they packed up camp in his moleskin pouch and Apparated to the hidden alleyway in Diagon Alley. Apparently the only two wizarding libraries that kept all of the old Daily Prophets were Hogwarts and the Diagon Alley Library of Magic. Hogwarts wasn't an option for obvious reasons, so that left Diagon Alley, a place they were trying to avoid. Harry felt okay wandering around obscure villages undisguised, but Diagon Alley was a different matter. He suggested human transfiguration and Hermione and Zabini readily agreed. Little did Harry know that it would turn into a headache…

"Granger! Stop messing with your hair."

"It's my hair. I'll do whatever I want with it."

"And it's  _my_  masterpiece. If you keep twirling it in your pretty little fingers it will be destroyed."

It turned out that Zabini was more than good at human transfiguration. He had taken over after watching Harry's and Hermione's 'pathetic attempts' and thank Merlin he had because the three of them were now unrecognizable. Not that Harry would ever tell Zabini this. He was already far too smug about outshining Hermione. And Hermione was already irritable over being outshone, but that didn't stop her from playing with her new hair which was now straight as a quill—Zabini's masterpiece.

"How you three managed sneaking around for a year is beyond me," Zabini continued.

"Talent," Harry said dryly.

"My point exactly."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on. We need to find Luna."

Harry had messaged Luna through the coin after breakfast to inform her of their plans and had been mildly surprised that she wanted to join in. Not that he minded. He actually preferred the idea of her staying with the rest of the group. Plus it was an extra person to help research.

They strode down Diagon Alley with a disguised Hermione in the lead. Now that Harry knew that he was in another world, he found it easy to pick up on the differences, the most noticeable being the lack of the bright flashing building of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. The twins didn't run a joke shop in this world—or if they did, it was located elsewhere.

Then they were passing Gringotts and Hermione was leading them down an alley Harry had never been down before. There were fewer shops here and more businesses including the Headquarters of the Daily Prophet along with a large printing press next door. They passed everything, without comment, until they reached the very end of the street where a towering grey bricked building stood.

"Here we are," Hermione announced and Harry’s jaw dropped.

_‘_ _This_ _is the library_?’ Harry thought to him self.  It was six—no, seven stories high. He didn't even want to know how many books were inside. The front of the building curved so that it met up seamlessly with the two small shops that flanked it. A wide curved staircase led up to three sets of black doors and this is where he spotted Luna, undisguised. She saw them right away and began to approach them with a smile. Harry's awe was instantly replaced with relief.

"How does she recognize us?" Zabini whispered in alarm. "And why isn't she disguised?"

"It's a Luna thing," Harry explained, shrugging. "And I have a feeling her counterpart doesn't get out much."

Zabini made a noise of protest, but it was soon replaced by Luna's cheerful voice. "Good morning!"

"Morning Luna," Harry said, grinning.

"It's so good to see you two," Luna said to Hermione and Zabini.

Zabini inclined his head and Hermione murmured, "You too, Luna."

"We'll find Ronald," Luna said gently, her protuberant eyes on Hermione.

"I know."

"And Draco too, of course," Luna added to Zabini.

"Yeah," Zabini said, tiredly. "Of course."

Harry felt a sudden surge of annoyance before he reminded himself that this was necessary. That he couldn't do anything without information. "Come on,” he muttered, “let's get this over with.”

He followed Hermione’s lead up the library’s staircase and through the middle set of black doors. Once inside, all he could see were books—more books than he could have possibly imagined. There were stacks of them reaching from the worn wooden floors to the high planked ceilings. They were piled on an old wooden desk near the entrance, framing a middle aged witch. There were dozens of them zooming overhead and Hermione strode past and under them all, quickly beginning her ascent up the main staircase that loosely circled its way up to the floors above.

Harry hurried after her with Zabini and Luna not far behind. Sunlight streamed in from a domed window high above, illuminating the wide steps. The paneled walls of the stairwell curved with the stairs only stopping to allow brief entrance to each floor. They passed under a gold sign that dangled above the first floor landing: _Muggle literature, Muggle Studies and History, Muggle Reference and Law, Magical Literature, Magical History_

Magical literature…Harry idly wondered if he could find the writings of the Flemm Brother's. He wouldn't mind sneaking off for a bit to read this so called phoenix story. Speaking of which…

"You didn't have to wait long?" Harry asked Luna over his shoulder. He didn't care for the idea of her waiting around alone for too long.

"Oh no," Luna answered. "I walked my mother to work beforehand."

"What? I thought your mother worked from home."

"She did…" Luna said carefully. "But she didn't originally."

"Oh."

"Where does she work then?" Hermione asked, slowing down her pace to hear the conversation. The group was now walking up the stairs in tandem.

"She's a Spellsmith at WIRA," Luna said proudly.

Hermione squeaked furthering Harry's confusion. He knew Luna's own mother, back in their own world, had been killed experimenting with charms, so the whole Spellsmith thing made sense. But he had absolutely no idea about any place known as WIRA.

"Merlin," Zabini muttered. "That place is still around?"

Luna nodded. "It's much safer," she said simply.

No one showed anyone indication of furthering the conversation, or more important yet, filling in Harry's blanks. Hermione had resumed her quickened pace up the stairs. "Uh…" Harry said, "What's WIRA?"

Harry could practically feel Zabini roll his eyes while Hermione let out a fond sigh. "Wizarding Institute of Research and Advancement—WIRA."

"Okay…"

"All sorts of fascinating things were researched and developed there," Hermione continued. "Potions, spells, new magical plants and animals from crossbreeding—but it never really got started back up after the first war."

"What happened to it?"

"The three wizards that headed it were," Zabini slid a finger across his throat and tilted his head to the side.

"When?"

"I don't remember for sure," Hermione said.

"April 1981," Luna interjected somberly. "My mother had just had me."

"Why wasn't it ever restarted once I…you know…"

"Offed the Dark Lord?" Zabini finished for Harry.

"In a matter of speaking, yes."

"The first or second time, Potter?"

Then the group came to an abrupt halt at the top of the staircase—the sixth floor. A gold sign hung boldly above them.

_Magical Publications._

And Harry forgot to be annoyed with Zabini. He was too mesmerized by the smell of old newspapers and the daunting sight of stacks upon stacks of bound printed media. This was going to take forever.

"It just never happened, Harry," Hermione explained. "It was enveloped into the Ministry and it just hasn't been a priority. It would be wonderful though," she added wistfully.

"Yes, we know, Granger," Zabini said. He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned closer to her ear. "We don't have a research facility, but we do have thousands of newspapers begging to be perused." He gestured grandly towards the stacks.

Hermione shrugged Zabini off of her. "You're right, we do."

Harry had no idea where to even begin, but Hermione seemed to have no trouble at all. Not even a minute later, the group of four was standing in an aisle labeled  _1977-1986._

"Ah ha," Hermione said, mid-way down the aisle. She pointed her wand towards one of the large bindings and levitated it off the shelf, down the aisle, and to a long table that sat in a nook among the stacks and against a window. Hermione took a deep breath and sat down. Harry took his cue and took the seat next to her. He hadn't seen anyone except for the witch behind the desk on the ground floor, but he cast a silent  _Muffliato_  around the table just in case.

The dark brown leather which bound the newspapers that had caught Hermione's interest was imprinted with the words,  _November 1981_.

Hermione gave him an apologetic look. "I know that you—in this world—don't have a scar," she said, "but I just would like to see it for myself…as a starting point."

Harry numbly watched her open the book to the first page and vaguely thought that they already had an earlier starting point. April 1981 and WIRA, but he didn't say anything. He too, needed to see this for some sort of concrete confirmation that his life—his counterpart's life—hadn't been utterly blasted to pieces on this one day.

_1 November 1981_. It was a famous paper back home, much to Harry's dismay. He'd never forget the moment he first saw it—framed and proudly displayed at the Leaky Cauldron—with the headline,  _YOU-KNOW-WHO DEAD._ It was the  _Evening Prophet,_  later on, that declared Harry as the Boy-Who-Lived and plastered pictures of the Potter's destroyed home in Godric's Hallow on its front page.

But none of that existed here.

_CONTINUED DEBATE OVER MUGGLE STUDIES_

Harry stared at the headline and then at the date. Hermione made an impatient noise, most likely at the headline, before flipping to the  _Evening Prophet_. The familiar but devastating pictures were not there.

There was no Boy-Who-Lived.

Hermione kept flipping through the first week of November. Sirius was never imprisoned. Pettigrew was never ‘killed.’ The Longbottoms were never tortured into insanity. And the Lestranges and Barty Crouch Junior remained free, most likely spreading terror.

"Alright," Hermione said, blowing out a long breath. "Shall we try to figure out when he disappeared? We can work our way backwards and see if we come across anything."

The four of them set to work. Surrounded by piles of bound newspapers, they sat at the table together and each took a month at a time, quietly perusing the material for anything important. All Harry noticed was normalcy—lack of death. The members of the Order who had died during the summer of 1981 all seemed to be have been spared in this world. It wasn't until he reached April 1981, that he came across any mention of Voldemort and it was in a tiny opinion article on page seven of  _The Daily Prophet_  of 21 April 1981.

_Is You Know Who Really Gone?_

_It has been a year since the Ministry has reported any activity from You-Know-Who or from his followers known as the Death Eaters. Yet, You-Know-Who's disappearance has remained shrouded by mystery. No body has been found and no motive has been discovered to justify his abrupt departure despite a growing reign of terror. This begs the question, is You-Know-Who really gone? Or is it merely a trap to lull us into a false sense of security? We may never know, but we must remain vigilant and keep our eyes open! Please report any suspicious activity to the Auror Department immediately._

_-A. Moody, Senior Auror Correspondent_

Harry couldn't help but snort. Moody wrote for the Prophet? He couldn't even imagine that, but he could imagine the old Auror saying something like  _this._

"Hermione, look here," Harry said, pointing the article out to her. She leaned over and read the article in a matter of seconds.

"Merlin," she said. "He really  _did_  just disappear. April 1981…so sometime in April 1980 then." Hermione bit her lip. "But I wonder why? If only we could find the specific divergence point…"

"You've got to be kidding me," Zabini snapped. "Do you know the likelihood of that? Next to nothing. It could be anything."

"It would be nice though. I mean, if You-Know-Who dropped off the map in April 1980 it could have been sometime long before then that made things change. We need to know what knowledge we can rely on from our own world."

"There is no way you'll be able to decipher the exact moment from these newspapers and I'd personally not like to waste my time. I think it's more prudent to move forwards, especially since this world seems to be different from at least…oh, our births onward."

"We already knew that," Hermione snapped.

"So then let's fix it. Learning what happened in nineteen seventy whatever is not going to help us locate Weasley or Draco."

Clearly irritated, Hermione pushed her seat back and strode towards the stacks. The moment she was out of sight, Harry lowered his head and let it land on the desk with a loud  _thud_. He was growing restless—the urge to get up and do something was getting harder to resist and he had only looked through two months worth of newspapers. The thought of going through twenty more years—at the very least—while listening to Zabini and Hermione bicker made him feel ill. At least Ron knew to pack it in when the trio was revising together. It was best to let Hermione run the show in the library which Zabini didn't seem to understand.

"I better go make sure she's going in the right direction," Zabini muttered as he pushed back his chair to follow Hermione. "If I find her in the seventies, I swear to…" he trailed off, disappearing into the stacks and Harry let out a groan.

"I can distract them if you want to leave."

Harry popped his head up in surprise. He had nearly forgotten about Luna. She had been so quiet. "What?"

"You want to leave," Luna continued, gazing intently at Harry. "You've never wanted to do this."

"Yeah but Luna, I  _can't_  leave."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't do anything until we know more! Ron and Malfoy are Merlin knows where and we can't come up with a plan to find them until we figure this out." He gestured to the newspaper he had been reading in frustration. "Hermione's orders," he then muttered.

"Ron and Malfoy?" Luna said curiously. "Yes…hopefully this research will help us find them."

"Right," Harry said, becoming confused. "So what's the point in leaving?"

Luna looked at him solemnly; her eyes seemed bigger than usual. "So you can find a way home. I don't think you'll find it in this library.”

"Wha—“

"A way home, Harry. A way to save this world."

Something twisted uncomfortably in his gut—forget being used by the Order, he was being used by this whole bloody world. But it was all based on some ridiculous children's story. He couldn't allow himself to believe it. “Luna, don't take this personally, but…“ Your theory is complete rubbish—that is what he wanted to say, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to say it. So instead he said, "There must be some other way home."

He sounded desperate even to himself. Luna shook her head, her eyes fixed sadly upon him.

"But—I mean, I don't even know what to save this world from," he argued weakly.

"Of course you do."

Harry sighed. He wasn't fooling anyone, least of all Luna. "But we don't even know if he's still around. He disappeared. There are only rumors and I doubt we're going to figure out anything from these ruddy newspapers."

"But you have another way of finding out," Luna countered simply.

Harry opened his mouth to question her, but then he clicked it shut when he realized she was right—he did.

Luna smiled at him. "Better hurry."

Harry didn't think about it twice. He scrambled off muttering a slew of reminders to stay safe, keep low, and to remember the coin. He bolted down the stairs, earning himself a nasty glare from the librarian manning the second floor, but Harry hardly cared. He had a Horcrux to find.

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

"Morning Harry."

"Morning dad," Harry responded, yawning. He plopped down at the kitchen table and grabbed a section of the Daily Prophet his dad had already discarded.

"Does Master Harry want the usual this morning?"

Leor, the family house elf, was standing on a wooden stool positioned in front of the stove. He had been with the family ever since Jude had been born. With two young children and an at home Potion's business to run, Harry's mum finally gave in to his dad's suggestion of buying a house elf. To this day, Harry's mum insisted that Leor was adopted, not bought. Harry's dad saw little difference, but wisely stopped debating the issue.

"Yeah that's fine, Leor," Harry responded, yawning again. "Some coffee as well, if you don't mind."

"Coffee?" Harry's dad said, peering over the newspaper he was reading in surprise. Harry rarely drank coffee. He was a natural morning person just like his dad. In fact, this was their morning routine before work—eating breakfast and reading the Daily Prophet together. It was one of Harry's favorite parts of the day. It was quiet and unassuming. He felt like he could accomplish almost anything in the mornings when he sat there with his dad.

"Merlin," his dad continued, peering over his round glasses. "You look terrible."

"I'm fine. I just didn't sleep the greatest."

His dad looked at him carefully, his face full of concern. "Maybe you should take the day off. You  _were_  Obliviated yesterday."

"I'm fine," Harry responded emphatically as Leor sat a plate of food and steaming cup of coffee in front of him. "Thanks Leor."

Leor smiled in embarrassment and bowed his head before scurrying out of the kitchen. The elf had been thanked everyday for the past sixteen years, but still blushed at the words much to Harry's mum's dismay. Harry's dad smiled fondly after Leor. "Poor little bugger."

Harry yawned in agreement before taking a sip of coffee. "Bleh."

"I'm serious, Harry," his dad started in again. "You need to rest today—consider it at the very least. Having your memory tampered with is not something you should take lightly."

"Consider it considered."

Harry's dad shook his head and disappeared back behind the paper much to Harry's relief. He appreciated his dad's concern, but he had too much he needed to get done at work. He smeared his toast with strawberry jam and began to munch on it whilst reading the Daily Prophet. It was full of the usual dull worthless news—most days Harry didn't know why he bothered reading it.

"I best be off," Harry's dad said a few minutes later and it was Harry's turn to look up in surprise. It was usually Harry who was first to leave.

"Why so soon?" Harry asked.

"You know I can't tell you," his dad said as he stood, but Harry saw the excited gleam in his eyes. His dad  _knew_ something and Harry instantly burned with curiosity. His dad was an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, so if it was work related then his dad really  _couldn't_  tell Harry. All Unspeakables were under a Vow to the Ministry. They were literally physically unable to talk about their work in order to ensure that the Department of Mysteries stayed exactly that, a mystery.

But Harry's dad also used this convenient built in excuse for non-work related things. It was a constant battle to determine if his dad couldn't or wouldn't.

"Not even a hint?" Harry asked innocently.

Harry's dad looked at him and it was obvious that it was taking everything in him to keep whatever it was inside.

"Come on, dad. I bet you told mum."

"I certainly did not," his dad said indignantly. "Besides, your mother knows how to keep her mouth shut."

"Oi! I keep my mouth shut just fine, thank you very much."

"Except when it involves Neville and then before you know it Alice and Frank know and then the entire Order knows."

"So you  _can_  tell me, you just won't."

"Not yet," his dad said, smiling, “but let's just say I might have an idea of what's been going on. That's all I can say for now."

"Oh come on!" Harry cried out as his dad grabbed a fistful of floo powder.

"I should know more by tonight," his dad said apologetically. "And keep on considering, alright?"

Harry grumbled just exactly what he was considering as his dad swirled away in a flash of green flames and glitter. He could not believe his dad left him hanging like that. He was half tempted to go wake his mum to see if she knew anything, but Harry knew better of it. Instead, he downed the rest of his coffee and went into work, hoping he'd be able to distract himself from the curiosity that now filled him.

He worked at the Wizarding Institute of Research and Advancement, otherwise known as WIRA, as a Spellsmith apprentice. Harry may have been a morning person, but he had a reason for going into the office so early in the mornings—it was free of people and thus free of distractions.

Today though, Harry wasn't so lucky. Selene Lovegood, perhaps the oddest of his coworkers, was standing outside the front door. She waved when she caught sight of him.

“Ah, Harry! I was wondering when you’d get here.”

"Did you forget how to get inside?" Harry asked. Selene typically arrived later in the morning. In fact, Harry wondered if she had ever been the one to charm the building open.

"Of course not," she said, smiling.

“Uh…right then,” Harry said. Her unwavering gaze was making him feel fidgety. He needed to get away from her. He didn’t even want to know why she was standing out there if she knew how to get inside. He edged past her, pointed his wand at a series of bricks lining the front doorway, and muttered the necessary spells to charm the door open.

Selene sighed as the door clicked open and if Harry wasn’t mistaken, she almost sounded disappointed. She followed him into the building and Harry was relieved when he arrived at his office door, but instead of continuing on to her own office, Selene stopped and watched him unlock his door.

"Lots to get done this morning," he said, hoping she would move on. "What about you?"

When Selene didn't answer him, he turned to find her staring at him. "Selene?"

"What?—oh yes!" she said, coming out of her trance. She opened her mouth, but then closed it as if she decided against saying something.

"Well I'll see you later," Harry said slowly.

"Later?" Selene questioned. Then her face lit up. “Actually, that would be perfect. Come find me later…yes, this should work out just fine…I just need to look up a few things…” She spun around and glided down the hall. Harry watched her, momentarily stunned. Didn't she know that he hadn't meant that literally? He shook his head, closed his office door behind him, and set to work.

And yet, it was proving to be one of the most unproductive mornings Harry had ever had which did not bode well for the rest of his day. Maybe his dad was right—hell, maybe his mum was right. She had been wanting him to take a break from his project for weeks now.

He felt tired and distracted by the strange events of the day before, his dad's secret theory on said events, and Selene Lovegood's odder than normal behavior. How was he suppose to develop a spell to lift the Imperius Curse when he couldn't even focus for two bloody seconds without his mind wandering or his eyes drifting shut...

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry's eyes flew open and he realized in horror that his head was resting on his desk. He bolted upright to find Mr. Edevane, his boss, standing on the other side of his desk with an unreadable expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted out quickly. "I just—“

"Please," Mr. Edevane said, "Spare me your explanation. It is quite obvious what has happened here." He glanced down at Harry's desk and looked pointedly at a small pool of drool Harry had left behind.

"Of course, sir," Harry said, flushing.

"I just hope this is not a daily occurrence."

"No," he said hastily. "No—of course not."

"Because I know how you like your privacy during the mornings."

"No, I promise. This is the first—and last time this will happen."

Mr. Edevane looked at him for a long moment and then he smiled. "Oh I sincerely doubt it will be the last. I don't have enough hands to count all of the times I have fallen asleep at work. Then again, I am much older than you."

Harry smiled in relief. "I will try to at least not make it a habit then."

"Very good," his boss replied, clapping his hands together. "Now we can move on to the reason I have come by." He gestured towards a cabinet to Harry's left. There were two owls perched on top of it. "These two owls were pecking at my window, but it seems that the letters they carry are meant for you. Though I'm not completely sure about that small owl, his letter appears unmarked, but seeing as he won't give up the letter to anyone else in the office I can only assume."

Harry glanced at the two owls. One was a small fat owl, the size of a grapefruit; its dark brown feathers were ruffled at odd angles. The other was a large barn owl; it was carrying a letter with a ministry seal stamped on the back. The latter flew over to Harry and held out his leg in a bored manner.

"I will let you read your post," Mr. Edevane said.

Harry flushed with embarrassment again. These owls must have disturbed his boss because Harry had been sleeping. "Thank you, sir," he said as he reached out to untie letter from the owl's legs. "And again, sorry about all of this…"

"No need, Harry. You have been working hard lately and I think it's perhaps for the best that you take the rest of the day off. Get some sleep. Get your mind off of this project—“

"Wha—no! I'm fine— _really_ —I just—“

"Dumbledore informed me of you're little mishap yesterday," Mr. Edevane interrupted causing Harry to gape before clenching his jaw shut in anger. "Take the day off. Go home, get some sleep. I'll see you on Monday." And without further argument, he turned and strode from Harry's office.

Harry let out a frustrated groan the moment his office door clicked shut. His boss, Mr. Alvin Edevane, was the most renowned Spellsmith of this century and he had just caught Harry  _sleeping_  at work. And why in Merlin's name had Dumbledore interfered? It was completely unnecessary because Harry was  _fine_ —

"Ow!"

A sharp pain had shot through Harry's left hand. As he jerked his hand towards his body, he noticed the barn owl glaring at him with a letter still half tied to its leg. A spot of blood was on its beak. "You bloody bird," Harry cried out looking down at his hand. Blood was dripping from it and all over his robes.

The owl hooted indignantly and held out its leg.

Scowling, Harry charmed his wound closed earning another angry hoot from the owl. "You want my blood all over you, do you?" he said. Then he reached out and finished untying the letter. "There. Happy now?"

The owl flapped his wing in Harry's face, flew off towards the windowsill, and pecked his beak loudly against the windowpane.

"Ruddy ministry owls," Harry muttered, charming the window open. He turned to the other owl. "And I suppose you would like to leave as well?"

The small fat owl cocked his head at him and let out one low hoot.

Sighing, Harry pushed himself up from his chair. This owl was no doubt a public post owl. They were dirt cheap and weren't always trained in proper post etiquette, but they got the job done. And that's all that mattered to some people, that their letter made it to the right person. He walked over to the small owl and untied the letter from its short leg. "Off you go," he said, gesturing towards the window. The owl let out one final hoot and flew off, out of Harry's office.

That morning was getting stranger and stranger. Harry hardly ever received post, so receiving two letters in one morning was more than unusual. He decided to open the letter from the Ministry first, in case it was something important.

_Dear Mr. Harry Potter,_

_The Ministry received intelligence of an unexplained magical burst in known Muggle territory in the village of Ottery St. Catchpole at seven thirty eight yesterday evening. Upon further inspection, Ministry Obliviators discovered that no less than thirty one Muggles witnessed a Patronus Charm in this area. Due to evidence provided by Mr. Arthur Weasley, the Ministry has enough reason to conclude that you are responsible for this breach in the Statute of Secrecy._

_However, due to the same evidence provided by Mr. Arthur Weasley, we are pleased to inform you that no charges will be pressed at this time. Please see Exception Clause 7.1, paragraph D for details._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Head of Improper Use of Magic Office._

Harry stared at the letter and then deciding he must have misread it, he read it again. But he hadn't read it wrong.

The Ministry thought he had performed a Patronus Charm in front of Muggles? This was all wrong…this was...

Then it hit him. This was  _his_ —the  _other_  Harry's—doing.

Harry crumbled the letter in frustration. Some bloke was wandering around looking like him whilst casting illegal magic and letting him take all the blame! And Mr. Weasley had provided evidence? What did this mean? Did Mr. Weasley see this bloke? Did he talk to him? And Ottery St. Catchpole, that was where the Weasley's lived. Why was this other Harry there?

He had a gut feeling that it had something to do with the Ron that was currently tied up at Headquarters. These two blokes knew each other. Harry had felt it the night before and Dumbledore had thought so as well, but now Harry was sure of it...

But there was something still missing—something huge—and Harry had no idea what it could be. There were still so many things left to be explained...

He put the crumbled Ministry letter aside. It was frustrating—no, maddening that the Ministry thought he had cast illegal magic, but there was nothing he could do about it right then and at least he wasn't in serious trouble for it.

He picked up the second letter and rubbed his thumb over the waxed seal, unsure of what to do. It was one of his dad's many rules of survival—never open an unmarked letter. There was no telling what would be inside—a hex, a curse, a poisonous gas—but Harry burned with curiosity. He had to open it. There were too many secrets and mysteries in his life right then and he couldn't handle another one. He cast a Detection Spell on it for his dad's sake, knowing it would at least reveal any obvious curses. Harry doubted whoever sent this would go through all the trouble of carefully disguising their ill intentions. He wasn't that important.

The letter glowed white. It was safe…

Holding his breath, he tore the envelope open. Inside was a small strip of parchment. On it, were two or three sentences written in an unfamiliar elegant hand.

_Scarhead, I don't know what is going on but I know it has something to do with you. Meet me today. Same time and same place as yesterday._

Harry blinked in confusion. ' _Scarhead?'_

He flipped the letter over, looking for more, but that was it. It wasn't even signed.

_'Scarhead?'_

Was this letter even meant for him? Obviously not. This person clearly was under the impression that they had met the previous day…

Or was this what was Obliviated from Harry's mind? Had Harry met this person and just couldn't remember it?—No, that didn't make sense. Harry wasn't  _Scarhead_ ; no one had called him that in his entire life… Unless it was some sort of joke? Was Scarhead some term for Obliviated people that Harry didn't know about? No, that didn't make sense either. If they were teasing him about being Obliviated then it wouldn't make sense to refer to a meeting he could no longer remember with such little detail… This couldn't be for him…

But post owls didn't deliver letters to the wrong people. It was part of their magic. Whoever sent this  _had_  to have told the owl to send it to him…

_'Or the other Harry,'_  his mind finished and Harry felt his heart quicken. Was this person trying to get in touch with the bloke that looked like him? Was there a third person involved in this strange mystery?

But wait, owls could detect disguises, a common known fact in the wizarding world, which meant that the person sending him this letter had told the owl to deliver it to Harry Potter…And if this letter was meant for the other Harry, then the person sending it genuinely thought that this other bloke was indeed Harry Potter…

Harry groaned into his hand. A headache was quickly forming. He reread the note again, hoping to get more out of it.

_I don't know what is going on but I know it has something to do with you._

So this person—whoever it was—was as clueless as Harry felt. And hadn't Ron last night claimed to not what was going on? Even Harry's doppelganger seemed confused when Harry had watched Sirius's memory of yesterday afternoon. Was this all some big misunderstanding?

Yet that still didn't answer why an owl delivered this letter to him when it was meant for someone else. Nor did it explain Ron's reaction to the Veritaserum or the breach of the Fidelius Charm in two different locations...

There was something definitely missing.

_Meet me today. Same time and same place as yesterday._

And Harry had an idea how to find it. At least now, he had the day off from work.


	9. Unexpected Discoveries

This was insane. He was absolutely mental. And as warmth radiated from his pocket indicating that someone was trying to message him via the 'DA coin' for the third time in ten minutes, Harry knew that Hermione was, without a doubt, going to kill him.

And with good reason too. He was currently standing in a wooded area near the Shrieking Shack trying to figure out the best way to break into Hogwarts…

Not that Hermione knew this; she just knew that he had left the library…

And okay, he might have left the library a bit prematurely. He realized that now. There was so much he just didn't know. Life in this world was different from April 1980 onwards, but what about before then? Voldemort's reign of terror could have been completely different here and more importantly to his current position, Voldemort may have not created Horcruxes in this world which meant that what he was about to do—break into Hogwarts—was going to be foolish, reckless, and pointless.

He was slowly realizing that Hermione had been right. They needed to find the divergence point. His knowledge of Voldemort's life was pointless without it.

And yet…maybe he didn't know the exact nature of Voldemort's reign but he  _had_  seen the fear in the Lovegood's eyes when he mentioned You-Know-Who…

And maybe he didn't know if there were Horcruxes, but he  _did_  know that Voldemort—back home—had made his first Horcrux when he was sixteen and surely the divergence point wasn't before then…

And maybe Harry didn't know anything for sure when it came to this world, but he knew that they weren't going to learn about Voldemort from any ruddy newspapers. That was going to require direct research and Luna was right, Harry had a way to do it.

And he was already here—alone and willing to do this…

So Harry pushed down any inklings of doubt and let his instincts take back over.

He only needed to find one Horcrux to know Voldemort was still around and it had taken all of two minutes to decide which one to go looking for—the diadem. It was in a location he could potentially access, didn't involve foul creatures or nasty wards, and he reckoned it had been created and placed inside of Hogwarts long before 1980, the current divergence point.

As for the other Horcruxes…well, Harry just needed to find one and he was  _not_  going to look for the others.

He  _wasn't._

He was only going to find one so he knew for sure that Voldemort was here…and that was  _it_.

Besides, there was a reason it didn't take long to decide to go looking for the diadem…the other Horcruxes had issues…

The location of at least three Horcruxes depended on other people other than Voldemort, which meant Harry didn't feel comfortable searching for them in this world. In Harry's world, the Cup had been entrusted to Bellatrix Lestrange and the diary to Lucius Malfoy. Was the Cup in Gringotts in this world? Was the diary in Malfoy Manor or had it also been pawned off on some defenseless child? Either way, Harry was not breaking into Gringotts again. And if he was going to break into Malfoy Manor—which had already been established as  _not_  an option by Zabini—it would be to find Malfoy and not some ruddy Horcrux. Then there was Slytherin's locket, it's location depended on Kreacher and Regulus Black who—if Harry remembered correctly—stole the locket from the Cave in 1979 which was a bit too close to 1980 for Harry's liking. That being said, Harry had no interest in returning to that sodding Cave and on the chance that Regulus  _had_ managed to steal the locket, it would have been sent to Grimmauld Place, yet another place that had been deemed off limits to Harry by Hermione and Zabini. And who knew if the locket would even still be there. It could have been thrown out by Sirius or another Order member or hell, pawned off by Dung by now.

Nagini, Voldemort's snake, was not an option for obvious reasons. She hadn't been made into a Horcrux until _after_  Voldemort's resurrection. Or at least, that is what Dumbledore had reckoned...Harry didn't fancy searching for her anyway.

In fact, the only other Horcrux Harry had truly considered was the ring. Like the diadem, the ring's location relied solely on Voldemort. There were no wayward house elves involved or faithful servants or even potential foes to influence the location. And if there was one thing Harry knew about Voldemort it was his arrogance. Harry was willing to bet that once the diadem and ring had been placed, that Voldemort trusted these Horcruxes would never be found and thus never moved them. The problem was that Harry didn't know much about the protection surrounding the ring. It had been the one Horcrux Dumbledore had found and destroyed without Harry. He knew it was in the old Gaunt House and not to actually  _wear_  the ring, but that was about it. He wasn't willing to fiddle around with a bunch of unknown dark wards just to figure out if Voldemort was alive in this world…

Because it wasn't  _his_  job to destroy the Horcruxes—hell, he didn't even have a  _way_  to destroy the Horcruxes. He was fresh out of Basilisk venom and he had enough bad memories from Fiendfyre to last a lifetime.

And there was _no way_ he was going to carry one of those things around with him again.

He just wanted to lay eyes on a Horcrux to verify Voldemort’s existence and get back to the group. That left him with the diadem. He didn't particularly like the idea of breaking into Hogwarts, but at least he knew how.

He just hoped to Merlin the Marauders never revealed the secret tunnels to Dumbledore or anyone else in this world.

Otherwise this could get interesting.

Harry pulled the still warm coin from his pocket. Only the most recent message was visible, ' _Granger is losing it. Get back here now.'_ He felt a pang of guilt at Zabini's message, realizing that he had forgotten to give Hermione her own coin. He tapped the coin, sent a message reassuring Zabini he was fine and would be back soon, and shoved it back into his pocket. Then he swung his Cloak around himself and began following the path towards Hogsmeade.

He had decided to take his chances on the trusty tunnel he had used during his third year to sneak into Hogsmeade. He reckoned it would be easier to slip into the tunnel beneath the Shrieking Shack, but he preferred a tunnel that went directly inside the castle. This meant he needed to sneak down into the cellar of Honeyduke’s…

Luckily, it turned out to be no trouble at all. He only had to wait a few minutes before a young couple entered the shoppe and he was able to follow them inside. The lone employee was busy helping a family with young children meaning the door Harry needed to go through was unguarded. He hurried towards it and made his way down the cellar stairs. It took him a minute to find the trap door—it had been awhile, after all—but he eventually found it partially hidden beneath a large crate. He pushed the crate aside, pried the door open, and then lowered him self inside, allowing himself a sigh of relief once the door closed overhead.

Then he took off down the tunnel with the aid of a Lumos spell and his Cloak draped over his shoulder. The tunnel was smaller than he remembered. His pace was slower than he would have liked and his back ached only minutes into his journey from hunching over. Being thirteen and scrawny apparently had its benefits…

But despite his slower pace, the tunnel eventually began to rise and Harry came to a familiar dead end—the inside of the witch's hump.

Harry laughed in thrilled disbelief. The Marauders had kept the tunnels a secret. Or maybe, he mused, they didn't even  _know_  about the tunnels if the divergence point was earlier than he thought. Either way, Harry was relieved.

Swinging his Cloak back over himself, he tapped his wand against the stone. It was summer, so he reckoned there weren't going to be many people milling about but he still didn't want to take any chances. He stood there, listening carefully for any voices, footsteps, or sounds coming from the castle. Then satisfied of the silence that met his ears, he stuck his head outside the hump and looked around.

The third corridor was empty.

Harry didn't think about it twice, he hoisted himself through the opening and awkwardly tumbled into the corridor…

He had made it.

He was in Hogwarts. Invisible. Undetected. And it had been easy—disturbingly easy.

And sneaking up to the seventh floor proved to be even easier. He didn't come across a single person on his way. Even eerier was the fact that the castle looked just as it had before the Battle of Hogwarts. He felt as he had been transported back to his early years of Hogwarts. The new sections of the castle, the memorials littering the halls were not present here, but he pushed all of this from his mind as he came to a familiar tapestry of dancing trolls. He began pacing in front of it, thinking about what he needed, and just as expected, an old wooden door emerged out of the wall.

He clutched the familiar door handle and flung himself inside.

The room was just as he remembered it with its high cathedral ceilings and the rows upon rows of illegal belongings, wayward junk, and knick knacks that had been shoved away by generations of Hogwarts students and staff.  He immediately started down an aisle and towards an unmistakable ugly stuffed troll.  When he reached it, he turned and automatically began scanning around for the Vanishing Cabinet…

But then he realized with a groan that it wouldn’t be there. Not in this world. Malfoy had been the one to hide it so he could fix it…And Harry had been the one to break it—Well, Peeves technically, but that didn't matter right now. What mattered was that Harry didn't have a bloody clue where he was going…

Not that he knew where to go after the Vanishing Cabinet, but it would have at least steered him closer…

With another groan, Harry picked a path at random and began weaving through the piles of wayward junk, trying to find anything remotely familiar. He had originally used the diadem to help mark the location of the Prince’s book which he had shoved in a damaged cupboard, but again, that wouldn’t have happened here. And who was to say another student, in this world, hadn’t found this room and moved its objects around as Harry had. Suddenly the task of finding the diadem felt much more daunting.  What had he been thinking?

Ron and Malfoy were lost somewhere in this world and there Harry was, breaking into Hogwarts and scavenging around for a ruddy Horcrux.

He slumped against an old bedpost and slid to the floor, realizing that he was completely lost. He no longer knew the location of the door, let alone the diadem. He had already been gone longer than he hoped and he knew Hermione was going to kill him when he got back. He didn’t even want to look at the coin which seemed to be a steady source of heat in his pocket. And to make matters worse, his stomach was growling in hunger. He sighed in frustration and pulled out some Honeyduke's chocolate that he always kept in his pouch. He took a sullen bite of chocolate and looked around, once again, hoping to see something familiar. He was about to sigh in defeat when something caught his eye—two thick brooms were further down the aisle…The brooms they had used to escape from the fire…

Harry jumped up in excitement. The diadem couldn't be far. He grabbed the skinnier of the two brooms, swung his leg over the shaft, and kicked off the floor. Lazily circling just above the piles and aisles of clutter, he broke off another chunk of chocolate between his teeth. His eyes searched for cupboards and, more hopefully, old warlock busts, but he didn’t see any. What he spotted instead was a curly blonde wig…

And there it was—the old damaged cupboard he had once shoved his wayward Potion's book into. Harry swooped down the aisle and dismounted his broom in one fluid movement. Still holding onto the broom, Harry wrenched open the cupboard door. Inside was the familiar cage that housed a five legged skeleton.

This was it!

Harry whipped back around and soon found the old warlock's bust across the aisle, half hidden under bed curtains. Discarding the broom, he began searching for the diadem. He couldn't remember pulling it out from anywhere—he was sure it had been in plain sight. Trying to reenact his desperation from sixth year, Harry seized the blonde wig and found the diadem lying safely beneath it.

Harry stared at it, momentarily frozen to the spot. This confirmed it—what Harry had already suspected—that Voldemort was still alive in this world… or at least not dead…

This world was truly still in danger.

He tossed the wig aside and carefully picked up the diadem. Magic pulsated through it, into his fingers and up his spine, it was soothing and familiar. He closed his eyes, feeling instantly at ease, more at ease then he could ever remember feeling…

The plan had been to leave the Horcrux behind. He didn't have a way to destroy it and he hadn't wanted to carry it around...Harry had learnt his lesson from the locket...But this didn't feel anything like the locket. The nasty thoughts that had coursed through him when he wore the locket had been replaced with a sense of calm as he held the diadem.

There was no way he could just leave this…this was important—invaluable…this was something familiar in an unfamiliar world...

_'No,'_  a small voice said firmly inside of his head and he dropped the diadem, startled.

The diadem fell to the floor with a dull  _clank_  and all sense of relief left him. He staggered backwards in realization, terrified of what had just happened.

It didn't make sense. Even when he was a Horcrux, he had never felt such a connection to any of the other Horcruxes. How—why did that just happen? His head began to spin, he had no idea…this was completely unexpected. He sat down, feeling sick, and cradled his head in his hands.

He wished he knew what this meant.

Surely he didn't have a connection to this world's Voldemort. That was impossible, right?

He reached into his robes, now wishing he wouldn't have come alone, and pulled out the two fake coins. Luna's coin was still imprinted with the same message from that morning. On Zabini's, the words, ' _Potter, where the hell are you?_ ' were stamped around the periphery of the coin.

Feeling that he owed some sort of answer, he tapped his wand against the coin and watched the words, ' _Room of Requirement_ ,' melt into the coin. He knew Hermione was probably livid with him, but he couldn't help but toy with her. He smiled, imagining her reaction. Then a moment later, the coin heated against his palm.

_'ARE. YOU. INSANE?'_

Harry snorted at the immediate response. Hermione must have hijacked the coin to illicit such a response. He tapped his wand against the coin again and sent the message, ' _I found it. See you soon.'_  Then he shoved the two coins back inside of his pocket. He would discuss it with them later, preferably not over a coin. Right now he needed to get out of there, away from this sodding Horcrux.

Using the wig to grab it, Harry put the diadem back where he found it and then placed the wig on top of it. He closed the cupboard door, making sure the area looked the same as he had found it. Satisfied, Harry picked up the broom and flew off towards the ceiling. From the air, Harry quickly located the stuffed troll. It wasn't far from the diadem; he had just overshot which aisle to turn down without the assistance of the Vanishing Cabinet. It would be easy to find again…

Not that he was coming back there…

Harry then landed near the exit, leaned the broom against a tattered bookshelf, pulled out his Cloak and swung it around him self.  Then wanting to err on the side of caution, Harry wished for an exit in an empty, unused, corridor. He had barely finished voicing the thought, when he heard the walls shift then shudder to a halt. Smiling to himself, Harry slipped through the door and into the empty corridor.

He then looked around, trying to gauge his surroundings.  The corridor was indeed empty and—

Bloody hell—the room had spit him out near the unused classrooms on the ground floor and _Filch's_ _office_ was just around the corner. But it was too late to turn back; the door was already melting into the wall…

Sighing, Harry took off before his luck ran out and Filch came around. He should have been more specific about his requirements. He crept down the corridor past Filch's office then the staff room and towards the entrance hall. He was nearing the end of the corridor when a door flew open behind him.

"...can't be considering this Albus!"

Harry stilled. He didn't need to turn around to know that voice belonged to McGonagall. And  _Albus_? That could only mean one thing…

"It is the only possibility Minerva."

The voice was low and calm, but Harry still heard the words clearly.  _Dumbledore._ Dumbledore was alive in this world. And judging from the voices and footsteps, he was about to run into Harry any second now. Heart beating wildly—without turning around—Harry slowly edged towards the wall.

"But it’s impossible! I admit that I have not heard of this reaction to Veritaserum but—“

"Please, Minerva. This is not the place we should be discussing this."

Against the wall, Harry held his breath. He knew that Dumbledore was unable to see through his Cloak, but the man had hearing abilities that no man his age should possess. Harry chanced a glance at the pair; neither of them was looking his way. Dumbledore—looking well and undamaged—was looking resolutely ahead. McGonagall was looking towards Dumbledore with an exasperated expression on her face. Dumbledore's words had been a mere coincidence.

"I'm hoping to organize a small Order meeting tonight," Dumbledore continued as the pair passed by Harry. "We will discuss it then. But first, I need to go to Headquarters and question this young man further."

_'A young man at Headquarters?'_  Harry thought, burning with a curiosity…Could they possibly be talking about Ron or Malfoy? He quietly pushed off the wall and followed them so he could still easily listen in on their conversation...

"But surely you are not going get any sort of cooperation from him, not unless you resort to certain means—“

"Which I hope I will not have to use, but I will if it’s required. I do believe, however, that once I explain the situation that he will be much more willing to cooperate."

McGonagall let out an unflattering snort. "Or he will think you are absolutely and utterly insane."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Not unlike you."

McGonagall sent an obvious look towards the Headmaster.

"I admit that convincing him may be a problem," he said. "But I’m hoping Fawkes will help me do the trick. If my theory provides true…"

"That is no theory, Albus. That is a  _myth_."

Harry suddenly froze behind them, a pool of dread welling up inside him.  _Theory? Myth? Fawkes?_  No—no, it couldn’t be…

"Ah, but one can argue that myths are rooted in facts," Dumbledore said amicably.

McGonagall made an impatient noise as the pair began to ascend the marble staircase. Harry was still frozen near the base of the stairs, listening carefully—trying to piece everything together.

"And what if this theory of yours provides true," McGonagall whispered furiously. "Surely we should alert Molly and Arthur. They would—“

"All in good time," Dumbledore interrupted. "Perhaps we will discuss that tonight after I finish my interrogation. I will…"

Dumbledore's words began to fade as the pair climbed further up the stairs, but Harry had no desire to follow them further. He stood rooted to the spot, his heart threatening to come out of his chest.

_A young man? Molly and Arthur? Interrogation? Fawkes…_ Ron was the young man at Headquarters…Harry had been right—that much was clear. That and the fact Dumbledore was going to question Ron— _again_ , by the sounds of it.

But all of this mention of Fawkes and myths and theories…had Dumbledore figured it out? That Ron was from another world? Harry's mind was screaming a loud and resolute yes. And while part of him was thrilled Dumbledore believed in their dilemma, another part of him couldn’t help but feel dread. If Dumbledore believed the same myth—theory—whatever it was that the Lovegood's had told him then Dumbledore wouldn't just know they were from another world, he would also believe that—oh  _god_.

Harry _had_ to get to Ron first. It was the only way…

Remembering a hidden stairway hidden behind a tapestry, he pushed off the wall and took off back down the corridor in a sprint. He slipped around the tapestry and bolted up the stairs to the first floor—turned right and ran along the corridor—flung himself through another hidden passageway on the left and up the stairs to the second then third floor—he turned left and sped past the library's main entrance—took another right and immediately gasped when he felt his entire body turn to ice.

"Who's there?"

And if possible, Harry's blood ran colder.

He could hardly breathe, whether it was from running, discovering Ron's predicament, stepping through a ghost, or realizing that the ghost could only be one person, he wasn't sure.

"I heard you gasp," came the familiar voice again, sounding both snotty and nervous all at once. "I demand that you reveal yourself."

Shivering, Harry turned and his fears were confirmed. The ghost he had just run through was none other than Hermione's counterpart. He could only stare, momentarily forgetting his plight.

She was young—Merlin, he had forgotten how young Hermione used to look. He pinned her for thirteen or fourteen, third year if he had to guess. Her hair was bushier than Harry had seen in a long time and her teeth—they were bucked like Hermione's had been before she had tricked Madame Pomfrey into shrinking them. But otherwise, Hermione looked well…

What had  _happened_? How had she died? There were no obvious injuries which he could see…

"Fine," ghost Hermione said, glaring at a spot to Harry's left. "If you're going to be rude, I'll just leave. I have better things to do anyway." She pivoted in mid-air and floated towards the library.

Harry stood staring after her—even after she had disappeared into the library—his chest aching, but the feeling was replaced by panic when he heard a familiar hiss. Mrs. Norris had finally found him and she was looking right at him. She ran off and Harry knew he had little time. Still shivering, he ran down the corridor, not stopping until he reached the One-Eyed Witch Statue.

" _Dissendium_ ," he panted at the statue. Then he clumsily flung himself inside. He landed in an awkward heap and charmed the hump closed from the ground. He stood, not allowing himself to stop, and took off down the tunnel as fast as he could, his mind running frantically with his legs.

Dumbledore and Fawkes—Ron at Headquarters—the diadem and his strange reaction to it—Hermione…

A violent shudder travelled through his core and he realized he was still shivering. He tried not to think about the cause, but he couldn't. A thick powerful wave of nausea hit him and in one violent hurl, he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground.

He stared at the mess, feeling unrelieved as he thought of Hermione—pearly and translucent. But his thoughts quickly shifted to Ron…

Harry had to get to Headquarters. Hermione and Zabini had been worried about Harry being used, but Ron knew just as much… And if Dumbledore already had the idea planted in his head that they were somehow here to save this world…

Oh god, he had to rescue Ron.  It was the only way to avoid getting too involved…it was the only way to ensure that Harry’s choices would remain his own…

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

His plan was a simple one: Make him self look like this other Harry and talk to Ron back at Headquarters. Harry was sure this bloke knew this other Harry and if he could just trick him for a few minutes then maybe he could wrestle some information out of him, like who would address Harry—the other Harry—as Scarhead. He knew the plan was a bit of a hopeful stretch, but he had this gut feeling that it was going to work.

Still, he was glad it was the middle of a work day and thus no one would be around to tell him off…

"Harry?"

_'Or not,'_  he thought, mentally cursing as he stepped out of the green flames and into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

Remus was sitting alone at the kitchen table with the _Daily Prophet spread out in front of him_. Though Harry hadn't been expecting him, he reckoned it made sense. There had been a break in the day before and leaving an intruder alone at Headquarters was probably not the best of ideas, magically bound or not.

"Hey Remus," he said, trying to sound unconcerned, but his mind was frantically thinking of how he could still manage to get his plan into motion with Remus there…Could he convince Remus to leave? Not likely, especially when factoring in the suspicious look Remus was giving him.

"What are you doing here?" Remus questioned. "Don't you have work?"

"Yeah, I just came from there. My boss wanted me to take the rest of the day off."

"That was nice of him," Remus said. His tone was polite, but his expression was expectant—demanding more of an answer.

"What?" Harry said defensively. There was no way he was going to tell Remus, or anyone else, that he fell asleep at work. He didn't need another bloody lecture about him needing to rest because he was Obliviated the day before. "I can't just come over to visit?"

Remus turned back to the  _Daily Prophet_  he had spread out in front of him. "I'd believe it if you didn't look so stunned to see me. You didn't think I'd be home, did you?"

"I just didn't expect you to be in kitchen," he said, taking a seat across from Remus. But no, he hadn't expected Remus to be home. Remus was typically gone doing odd jobs for the Order—mingling with werewolves or warding parts of Muggle London.

"Harry, please," Remus said, peering at him over the paper. "You aren't fooling anyone. How about you just tell me why you're here?"

"Fine," Harry muttered begrudgingly. It was tough to bullshit Remus. Harry's best hope was to try convincing Remus to go along with his plan—something he knew from the beginning. "Besides wanting to  _see you_ , I wanted to talk to—you know, Ron—the intruder."

Remus's brows arched high. "And you think you're going to get information out of him? Harry, he's mentally unstable. You saw what the Veritaserum did to him."

"I did and I also saw his reaction to me  _before_  he was drugged."

"Not this again," Remus said, shaking his head.

"No, listen to me," Harry said, frustrated. "The bloke  _knows_  me. He…trusts me, okay? Or at least the guy that looks like me."

Remus shook his head slightly like he was trying to deny something. "Where are you going with this?"

"When he first saw me he thought I was someone he could trust, the other Harry."

"The other Harry?" Remus said, bemused.

"Yeah, the bloke that looks like me—but he quickly realized that I wasn't him," he continued as he hastily reached into his robes to pull out his wand and a small bottle. "Dumbledore even thinks the two blokes know each other. So what if I made myself look like this other Harry? Maybe I could get more information out of him before he realized I wasn't him." Harry took a swig from the bottle and then tossed it to Remus who caught it by his fingertips.

"Hair lengthening potion," Remus read off the bottle. "Drink your way to longer hair. One inch per gulp."

"The bloke had longer hair than me." Harry looked upward, watching his black locks approach his eyebrows. He ruffled his hair when it reached the desired length.

"And different glasses…" Remus trailed off as he watched Harry remove his glasses and transfigure them into round wire-rimmed frames.

"And different glasses," Harry said, slipping the them back onto his face. "What do you think? Do I look like him?"

"You look like your father," Remus said, staring at Harry carefully.

"We all have our off days."

"You sound like him too."

"So what do you think," Harry said, ignoring Remus's jibe. "Think it will work?"

"No," Remus said decisively. Then he returned his attention back to the  _Daily Prophet_ _._

"No?" Harry said incredulously.

"No."

"Are you going to at least give me a reason?"

"I can give you several,” Remus said, folding the paper back down. “Disregarding the fact that we need information from this guy and that this will hardly encourage him to speak to us once he awakens—and no, he hasn't awaken yet, I still have yet to administer a nerve soothing potion to him. But regardless, you're not this  _other Harry_  and if these two really do know each other—and trust each other as you think they do—he will figure it out quickly, long before he gives out any prudent information. Never mind the fact that he'll wake up in the same room he's been tied up in. How are you going to explain where he is or why he's tied up?"

"Erm… well, I was going to untie him."

"I see."

"I was going to be careful! I mean, the bloke doesn't exactly have a wand. And as for the room, we can just move him into a different guest room before we wake him. Put him in a bed and I'll tell him he was knocked out…or something."

"Or something," Remus repeated skeptically. "I don't know, Harry. Why do you want to do this anyway? What are you hoping to achieve?"

"Oh I don't know," Harry said sarcastically. "There are just so many mysteries out there to choose from."

"None which I think he will answer. You think he'll explain how he broached the Weasley's wards if you walk into his room looking that?"

"No," Harry said, reaching into his robes once more. "I was hoping he could help decipher this." He pulled out the small piece of parchment with the anonymous note written upon it and slid it across the table towards Remus.

"What is this?"

"A post owl delivered it to me at work this morning. Go on, read it."

Remus picked up the parchment and scanned it with his eyes. "Scarhead?" he said, frowning.

"Charming, eh?"

"Who sent you this?"

" _That's_  what I'm hoping to find out. I have no idea, but obviously this person meant to send this to me. Post owls don't accidentally deliver mail to the wrong person."

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Since when have you been known as Scarhead?"

"Since never. The bloke that looks like me, however…"

Remus peered at Harry above his fingers. "You think this note is meant for the other Harry?" he said doubtfully. "Do you realize what that means?"

"That whoever sent it thinks this other guy is really me."

"Yes. And that's…that's…"

"Unlikely? Improbable? Impossibly crazy?"

"Yes, very much so. Have you thought that perhaps this is the event that was Obliviated from your mind yesterday?"

"I have and thank you for the reminder," Harry said, bristling.

"I'm sorry… I just think that may be a more logical conclusion."

"Remus—I know it's a stretch, but I have this gut feeling that all of this is tied together. Just let me try. What harm will it do? The bloke already doesn't trust us."

"Exactly," Remus muttered, but in the end he relented. Harry knew Remus still had his doubts about the plan, but Remus was a curious person and the mysterious note proved enough to convince him. That being said, Remus was unwilling to let Harry carry the plan out on his own. So together they moved Ron to the nicer guest bedroom and untied his lanky limbs. Then Remus made eggs and toast, hoping food would delay Ron from discovering the truth. The food also doubled as a method to administer the potion that Ron apparently needed. It was a good idea, Harry thought; the Ron Weasley he knew was an insatiable pig. The amount of food the bloke could eat without stopping was mind-boggling…and disgusting.

"I still don't know about this," Remus said. They were now standing on the fourth floor landing, just outside the guest bedroom that now held the unconscious Ron.

"It will be fine, you're worrying too much" Harry said, ruffling his hair. He hadn't had hair this long in ages, his mum always fussed at him and Jude when their hair reached a certain length.

Remus watched Harry with a fond smile. "You know what your mother would say if she saw you doing that."

"I know, I know," he grumbled. "Why do you think I keep my hair short?"

"Self preservation?"

Harry snorted. "Something like that." Then he looked towards the room, he was beginning to feel fidgety. What if this mystery person was already waiting for him? They had already wasted a good thirty minutes preparing. "Alright, I'm ready. Any last minute tips?"

"Your robes," Remus said, considering Harry thoughtfully.

"My robes," he said in surprise. "What about them?"

"They're too nice."

"Too nice?" he said dubiously. "You think this guy will notice my robes? He's completely out of it."

"Better not risk it," Remus said seriously. He pointed his wand at Harry's robes and muttered a spell before Harry could react. "That's better."

Harry looked down and curled his lip in disgust. Remus had transfigured his tailored black robes into ill fitting dark brown hand me downs. "I look ridiculous!"

"You  _look_  like him," Remus said, handing Harry the plate of food. "Now go on and good luck. I'll be right out here if you need something."

Harry dramatically pushed up his sleeves and grabbed the plate. He couldn't even function in these robes. How was he supposed to properly defend himself if his sleeves fell past his hands? He left an amused looking Remus standing alone in the hallway.

Once inside the bedroom, Harry shut the door but didn't click it closed. However annoyed he was with Remus, he still wanted him to be able to hear everything clearly. Ron—or whoever he was—was still lying in the bed Remus and Harry had tucked him into only minutes before. Harry approached the bed and unsure of how to begin, set the plate of food down on the bedside table.

Somewhere along the line, he had decided to act like this guy was Neville. Merlin knew he couldn't approach this situation like he would with  _the_   _actual_  Ron Weasley, but if he treated the guy as a mate…

Then maybe this would work. He just hoped his suspicions were correct.

He nervously sat on the edge of the bed and studied Ron up close. How could this bloke be Ron and yet not Ron all at once? It just didn't make any sense. Harry had to make this work. He had to find this mystery person—he just had this feeling it was a crucial step in solving this strange bout of mysteries. He pointed his wand at Ron and whispered, " _Enervate."_

And just like the night before, Ron stirred and groaned loudly as he came to.

"Ron," Harry said carefully, nudging his arm. "Hey, wake up."

Then Ron's eyes flew open. He whipped his head towards him and visibly tensed, inching ever so slightly away. “Harry?” he croaked out.

Harry forced a grin. "Who else? I was beginning to think you'd never wake up."

Ron continued to scrutinize him and after one long excruciating moment, he finally relaxed. Harry tried not to mimic the gesture as he watched Ron gingerly touch his head. "Why the hell do I feel like I've just spent the night sleeping with the Whomping bloody Willow?"

Harry chuckled in surprise. "Might as well have, banged your head up pretty well yesterday."

Ron glanced at Harry in confusion, but then his eyes seemed to clear. "Yeah…" he said, pushing himself into a sitting position. Then he looked at Harry expectantly and Harry automatically tightened his grip on his wand. "At Fortescue's, right?"

Harry nodded, not knowing what to say. Though he wondered how anyone could assume that they managed to bang their head up that badly at an ice cream parlor.

"Hermione. She's alright?" Ron continued, looking concerned. "And the others?"

"Everyone is okay," Harry reassured. He desperately wanted to ask the identity of these others, but knew it would raise suspicion. At least he had one name—Hermione, whoever that was.

"So it was just me," Ron murmured. He let out a quiet sigh and surveyed the room. "Where am I?"

"In one of the guest rooms," Harry said vaguely.

"What?" Ron said, frowning. "I thought you were going to remodel the sitting room first."

"Uh, right…I changed my mind."

"Oh."

Then Ron was examining him again, obviously trying to figure something out. Harry cleared his throat loudly.

“Hungry?” he said, gesturing towards the food. “I brought up breakfast.”

Ron's eyes lit up. "Bloody hell—I'm  _starving_ ,” he said, reaching out for the plate. Then not a second later, he was shoving a fork full of eggs into his mouth. He chewed eagerly for a few seconds before wrinkling his nose and swallowing. "The little bugger is slipping a bit, eh?"

Harry blinked before he could mask his confusion. What little bugger? Thankfully, Ron didn't seem to notice, he was already taking another bite of food.

"Soairsermyuhnee."

"Come again?" Harry said. He was too busy trying to hide his disgust to even begin to decipher what Ron had just said with a mouthful of food.

Ron gave him a quizzical look and swallowed. "Where's Hermione?"

"Oh," Harry started, trying to think. Hermione…Hermione—why did that name sound so familiar? And this was the second time Ron had mentioned her. "Hermione should be over soon.”

Ron stared at Harry and Harry knew this wasn't going to last for long. He needed to get information and fast.

"She's not here?" Ron said, sounding both surprised and confused.

"No…but she will be," he said evasively. "Soon. But hey, look what the post brought me this morning."

He pulled the small piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to Ron, hoping it would distract him away from this Hermione person who Harry knew nothing about. Ron snatched it from him and let out an unflattering snort as soon as he began to read it, but his amusement quickly turned to disgust.

"I don't understand," Ron said, his expression demanding an explanation. "Who does Malfoy think he is?"

"Malfoy?" Harry sputtered out before he could stop himself.

"Uh, yeah," Ron said, giving him a calculating look. "His problems are  _not_  your problems, no matter what he says. Don't tell me you're meeting up with him one on one now."

"I'm not!"

"Because that git doesn't deserve it one bloody bit," Ron ranted, pointing his fork at Harry. "I get what you’re trying to do Harry, I really do. And I’ll go along with your meet ups and I could really give two tosses about being seen in the middle of Diagon eating bloody ice cream with the bloke. But we did that yesterday, Harry, and that should be—“

Then Ron suddenly stopped, but Harry didn’t even notice. His mind was spinning. The mystery person was Malfoy…Draco effing Malfoy. At least, Harry assumed it was Draco. Merlin help him if it was Draco's father, Lucius…

But maybe it was Lucius. Maybe this Ron and this other Harry were working for the Death Eaters. Maybe Scarhead was the other Harry's code name…and something obviously went wrong. Malfoy was blaming Harry for something and Ron thought he had been knocked out at Fortescue's—But wait, why would Death Eaters meet over ice cream? Did Death Eaters even eat ice cream? And if they were all working together, why did Ron seem not so keen on Malfoy? Harry was lost in a tangle of confused thoughts—still feeling no closer to knowing what was going on…

"Harry?"

Ron's voice jarred Harry from his thoughts. He found Ron staring at his wand through narrowed eyes.

"What happened to your wand?"

Bugger.

Harry stood, edging away from the bed. He knew the gig was up and yet he needed more information—more time…

"I lost my other one," he tried lamely.

Ron’s eyes bore into him and Harry held his breath, hoping his lie worked. The silence between them stretched on. Then fighting an urge to run, Harry ran his hand through his hair and for reasons unknown to him this caused Ron to snap—to snarl. Ron launched off the bed and collided with Harry's mid-section before Harry could react. They tumbled to ground along with bedcovers, toast, and bits of eggs.

"I knew it," Ron spat, pinning Harry to the ground with alarming speed and strength. Harry was horrified to discover that his wand was no longer in his hand and no where to be seen.

"Get off of me," he ground out, trying to free himself. But it was no use. Ron was heavier and sat straddled across Harry's abdomen, pinning his arms to his sides.

"Who are you?" Ron demanded.

"You already know who I am!"

Ron's hand flew towards Harry's face and Harry flinched, but the strike he had been expecting never came. Instead, Ron roughly shoved Harry's hair off his forehead and he let out a mirthless laugh. "You can't fake that detail, can you? You sick bastard!"

"And what detail is that!?” Harry challenged.

Ron let out another mirthless laugh before he lifted Harry's head by his lengthened hair and slammed it against the ground. Pain erupted through Harry's skull and his vision blurred. He heard the door burst open and a moment later his vision glowed red. Then Ron fell forward, landing on top of him with a  _thud_.

"Harry?" he could hear Remus say from somewhere above. "Harry, are you alright?"

"Fine," he gasped out, trying to roll Ron off of him.

"Here," Remus said. "Let me help." Harry felt Ron's weight lift from his body. Remus levitated Ron to the bed before carelessly dropping him onto it.

"You didn't have to give him such a soft landing," Harry muttered. "And what took you so long?"

"This was your bright idea," Remus reminded him. "And I was waiting to see if he'd reveal anything. You'd be surprised what people say when they're angry…" He looked towards Ron and sighed. "Your mother is going to kill us."

"Yeah, well," he said, sitting up and touching the back of his head tentatively. "At least we know who sent the letter."

"Malfoy, if I heard correctly."

"You did, but it doesn't make any sense! I'd say they’re mini Death Eaters, but it doesn't add up. Why was he," Harry gestured towards the bed, "so concerned about me meeting with Malfoy alone?"

"Don't know."

"Ice cream…" Harry said, mulling it over. "They met up for ice cream yesterday…"

"He mentioned Diagon as well. And Fortescue’s."

"You're right," Harry said, sitting up a little straighter. "He thought he banged up his head there yesterday and he mentioned others. Do you think Malfoy was one of them?"

Remus gave him a half grin. “I’d say it’s definitely a lead.”

"Yeah, you're right," Harry said, feeling encouraged. Then he gave Remus a smile of his own. “Care to join me for some ice cream?”


	10. Lost and Found

In a swirl of green flames, Harry stumbled out of the fireplace and into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. He took one look around the empty room and allowed himself a sigh of relief.

He had made it.

Breaking into Grimmauld Place had turned out to be a lot harder than Harry had hoped. His original plan of Apparating underneath the safety of his Cloak had been thrown out the moment he discovered he could no longer Apparate into his former home. Nor, had it turned out, could he charm the front door or any of the windows open.

The Order had refortified Headquarters against him. Hermione had been correct in her assumptions.

The only thing the Order hadn't done was re-cast the Fidelius Charm—Harry could still see the place. He reckoned this was due to logistics rather than anything else—casting a Fidelius Charm was no simple matter—but all he had cared about was one simple fact: there was still a way inside.

He knew there were stronger spells out there he could have tried on the front door, but he hadn’t known any off the top of his head. Hermione or even Zabini probably knew of some, but asking for their help hadn’t been an option. There was no way they would have approved of what he was doing and he needed to rescue Ron  _today_ —within the hour even.

This had left Harry with one final option…

So after Apparating to Upper Flagley for the second time that day, he had found a small un-crowded inn and asked to make a Floo call. Then following a quick message to Luna to let her know what he was doing—someone needed to know, after all—Harry had stuck his head in the green flames to see what he was getting himself into and had found the kitchen of Grimmauld Place surprisingly empty. He then wasted no time in pulling his head out and throwing himself into the flames.

Now he was in. And as happy as Harry was to find the kitchen empty, he couldn't help but feel wary. He had been expecting people—a confrontation of sorts. This almost felt too easy.

The Order had re-warded the house against him. Why wouldn't they station a guard in the kitchen? Wouldn't they know he would still be able to get through the Floo? Harry shook off these thoughts and just decided to be grateful. He had already wasted enough time getting there and there was no telling when Dumbledore would show up… if he wasn't there already…

Merlin, Harry hoped not.

He pulled his Cloak around his shoulders—he had learned to never Floo underneath it the hard way—and placed a quick Silencing Charm over his feet. Then with wand in hand, he crossed the kitchen and made his way up the stairs, listening carefully for any voices or creaks in the floorboards above him…

But he heard nothing. The house was completely silent, just as it always was…

‘ _No_ ,’ Harry thought, mentally berating him self.  This place wasn’t his home, no matter how much it felt like it.

And as it turned out, these feelings were easy to squash just moments later. As soon as he reached the top of the kitchen stairs, the place was no longer recognizable.

Gone were the peeling wallpaper and the black wooden floors. In their place were freshly painted walls and polished wood paneling and floorboards. The hallway opened into a bright entrance hall and its walls were flittering with movement. Curious, Harry silently moved towards them and when he realized what he was seeing, he let out an involuntary gasp. The walls were covered with hundreds of wizarding photographs—some of people he had never seen, some of people he knew only through pictures, but mostly of people who were heart achingly familiar...

Dumbledore and Aberforth. McGonagall and Hagrid. Several of the Weasley's and the Longbottom's. Tonks, Kingsley, and Moody. Sirius and Remus. Harry's parents. And him—Harry's counterpart. The walls were a moving history—a history he had never been a part of and Harry hungrily took it in. There were pictures of him as a toddler being held by his mum, him as a teen laughing with Sirius and his father, him with his arm slung around a young Neville. There were pictures of him laughing and smiling and waving with people he didn't know—but there was one unfamiliar person who stood out to Harry in particular. There were dozens of pictures of Harry with a younger boy he didn't recognize, but felt he should know...He had messy brown hair and laughing eyes and as Harry's eyes fell upon a picture of the two of them with Harry’s parents, he realized with a pang that his counterpart wasn't an only child.

The Harry of this world had a  _brother_ …

"REMUS!"

Harry startled and came reeling back to the matter at hand—Ron. He was here to rescue Ron and he was looking at pictures.

"REMUS!"

A voice that could only belong to Sirius was shooting up and out of the kitchen. Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he ran into someone, but he cursed himself for wasting so much time. He backed away from the pictures and into a corner as he heard footsteps running up the kitchen stairs.

"REMUS!"

Sirius appeared a moment later and began running down the hall, barreling unknowingly towards Harry. He then grasped the main stair post and swung around towards the stairs. Harry watched him with a detached fascination, alternating between his could-have-been godfather and the pictures hanging on the wall. This could have been Harry's life…This was how Sirius should have been…

Harry looked away from the photographs, willing the thoughts away—fighting a sudden overwhelming urge to leave…

"REMUS!" Sirius yelled out again and despite his kempt appearance, he looked frazzled and worried. When no one answered his call, he began to mutter. "You have got to be kidding. Can we not have one ruddy normal day around here?"

Then Sirius took off up the stairs and after a moment's thought, Harry followed. As much as he wanted to leave, he had to find Ron…

He crept up the stairs slowly, skipping over the step he knew creaked. By the time he made it to the first floor, Sirius had already stuck his head into the drawing room and opened the two bedroom doors. Then Sirius was running up the second flight of stairs, two stairs at a time, all while yelling out, "Remus!" at odd intervals. Harry followed behind at a distance, vaguely noting the vast interior differences of the drawing room and the first floor landing. This Grimmauld Place was  _nothing_  like home…

"No. No no no no!" Sirius could be heard panicking from the second floor. "This is not happening. First Harry, now this. Where in the hell are you, Remus?"

Harry stopped just shy of the second floor landing. Sirius was coming out of the smaller of the two bedrooms, clutching something that looked like a small mirror. He tapped it with his wand and said, "Remus!" He then stared at it and when nothing happened, he swore. "Activate your damn mirror! What good are these bloody things if you don't turn them on!?" He shoved the mirror back into his pocket and dragged his hands over his face. He looked towards the ceiling and sighed. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," he muttered. Then he hollered out, "Kreacher!

There was a loud  _crack_  and Kreacher appeared next to Sirius. It certainly wasn't the elf Harry had grown to love, nor was it the one Harry had known back in his fifth year. Kreacher was wearing an old, but clean pillowcase and was regarding Sirius with a neutral expression. "You called?"

"Where is he?" Sirius said, pointing into the room. "Where is the bloke we were keeping in there?"

Harry's heart quickened, realizing that Sirius must’ve been talking about Ron…

"Mr. Lupin and the eldest Potter boy removed him and placed him in Master Regulus's room earlier this morning," Kreacher replied.

"Harry was here?" Sirius said sounding relieved.

Kreacher nodded once, his expression bored.

"But why would they move him," Sirius said, frowning towards the room. "And where are they now? Do you know where they went?"

"I do not," Kreacher said. "I have no interest in learning the coming and goings of blood traitors and—“

"Oi! Watch it," Sirius growled. "And get down to the kitchen and guard it until someone comes back home. You know we had that break in yesterday."

Kreacher glowered at Sirius before disappearing with a  _crack_.

"Bloody elf," Sirius muttered. Then he was taking off up the next flight of stairs and Harry was following him again, his stomach flipping. Ron was up there…he was so close…

On the top landing, Sirius went straight to the room Harry knew once belonged to Regulus and disappeared inside. Harry approached slowly and when he was finally able to peek inside, his heart sank.

Ron was side-lying on the bed—unmoving—with his lanky arms tied behind his back. Sirius was standing over him, taking in the scene. "Why did they put you in here?" he was saying to himself. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Meanwhile, Harry was trying to work out how to get Ron awake and out of there. He had reached the firm conclusion that he was going to have to Stun Sirius when Remus's urgent voice radiated from Sirius’s robes.

"Sirius! Sirius answer right now!"

Sirius hastily reached into his pocket and pulled out the same mirror from earlier. "Where the hell have you been?" he snapped.

"Never mind that," Remus said, flustered. "You need to get to Harry's safe house now!"

"Wha—“

" _Now!_ "

There was a loud snap and then Sirius swore, "Are you bloody kidding me?" Harry barely managed to jump out of the way as Sirius stormed out of the room. "You don't answer then you just expect me to come running…" he trailed off as he descended down the stairs, all while muttering obscenities.

Harry stood there, hardly believing his luck. He was mildly curious about what was going on at his counterpart's supposed safe house—where ever that was—but one look at Ron lying on that bed and Harry forgot all about it. He waited until Sirius's footsteps had faded away then Harry snuck inside the bedroom and shut the door.

"Ron?" He called out tentatively. "Ron, it's me—Harry."

He watched Ron, hoping to see him shift and when he didn’t, he sighed. Ron could sleep through an ungodly amount of noise after living under a ghoul for most of his life. It was going to take some force to wake him. Harry slipped off his Cloak and stuffed it inside his robes as he made his way towards the bed. He grabbed Ron's shoulder and shook him. "Ron, it’s me—Harry. Get up!"

But Ron still didn’t stir and while Ron could sleep through any amount of noise, he always woke at the slightest of touch...

"Ron?" Harry said again, growing concerned. He shook Ron's shoulder, feet, and hips hard. "Ron! Come on, wake up! We've got to get out of here."

Ron fell onto his back, onto his bound arms, the moment Harry released him. His head lolled to the side, but he otherwise remained still.

Alarmed, Harry glanced down at Ron's chest. It was slowly rising and falling…Ron was alive—he was just unconscious…

But there was no way he could manage to get Ron out of there in time with him in this condition. They both needed to be upright and close together in order to sneak out underneath his Cloak. So he pointed his wand at Ron's head and said, " _Enervate."_

Then he stared at Ron, waiting for a groan—a shifting of limbs—a fluttering of eyelids— _anything_. But that anything did not come.

" _Enervate_!" Harry tried again desperately.

And again, nothing happened. Ron remained motionless and the dread that had seemed to be a permanent resident in Harry’s stomach of late was pushed aside by anger.

“ _Enervate_!” Harry repeated though a clenched jaw and when nothing happened, yet again, he let out an enraged cry.

What in Merlin's name had they done to Ron!? Stun him five times in one night? Drug him with some god damn potion? Ron was completely unresponsive and Dumbledore was going to be there any moment and—oh, who cared if Dumbledore showed up. At least then Harry could hex the man himself for doing this to Ron...

But god, Harry just wanted to get out of there and back to the group and back home and his patience was running thin...

_"ENERVATE!"_

The anger, the frustration, the panic, the impatience—all of it—surged down his arm and out his fingertips. A white beam of light burst from the end of his wand and collided with Ron's forehead.

Momentarily stunned, Harry stared down at his wand, but then he heard a groan and any astonishment was completely forgotten. His eyes flicked up to Ron and he found him stirring, his eyes were beginning to peek open.

"Thank Merlin," Harry breathed out. He glanced back at the door, making sure they were still alone. "Ron—listen mate, you've got to get up. I don't have time to explain, but we—“

"Oh bloody hell—get out!"

Harry whipped back around, startled. He didn't know what he’d expected from Ron when he finally woke—confusion or relief, maybe—but he certainly hadn't imagined this. Ron was glaring at him with unadulterated hatred. "I don't know who you are or what you want but whatever it is, it’s not going to work!”

"What?" Harry said, confused and desperate. "What have they done to you? It's me—Harry."

Ron let out a short dubious laugh. "Really?" he said flatly.

" _Yes_. We don't have time for this—“

"Looks like you didn't have time for much,” Ron said coldly. “How thick do you think I am!? Or did you just forget to look into a mirror this go around?”

"No...No!” Harry said hastily, finally understanding Ron’s confusion. “I’ve just been transfigured, that’s all.  See—look." He pointed his wand at him self and said, " _Finite_."

Harry felt his features shift and out of the corner of his eye he could see his hair was now black again and his glasses were back to their thin round frames. Ron though, didn't look convinced.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "That's a neat little trick, but no—not believing it. Not for a bloody second! Get out! I'm not talking to any of you!"

“Ugh!” Harry let out, throwing his hands up in frustration. "We don't have time for this! Dumbledore is going to be here any moment and—“

Then Harry's words died out of surprise. Ron had pivoted in bed and kicked him in one fluid swift motion. Harry stumbled backwards from the bed, clutching his left thigh.

"What the hell was that for!?"

"Get. Out!"

"No!" Harry snapped. "You daft idiot, listen to me! I don't know what they’ve done to you, but I’m Harry—your Harry.”

“My Harry?” Ron demanded. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

“Ron, we're in another world and—“

Harry was cut off by Ron's dark laughter. "Yeah," he said, standing from the bed. "You’re going to have hit me with a few more Stunners before I believe that one.”

“No—Ron—“

Then Harry forgot what he was going to say.  Ron had begun stalking towards him with a mean look in his eye.  His arms were still tied behind his back, but Harry still staggered backwards and instinctively raised his wand.

"That's right," Ron spat. "Go ahead now.  Stun me or Confund me or do whatever the hell you want. Your sick trick isn't going to work on me again."

Harry shook his head, terrified of what the Order had done to him to elicit such a response. He had to make Ron understand and fast.

"Ron, I'm here to rescue you—it’s really me—I swear." He was rambling now, trying to think of anything that would convince Ron. "We met on the Hogwarts Express and you taught me about Chocolate Frogs and Bertie's Beans… And—and we use to write all over my copy of Fantastic Beasts in Binns class and Hermione—remember how she stole the book from me and erased all of our notes? And how mad we were? Then we found that spell in the library—Deletrius—and we reversed Hermione's spell and got all of our notes back and she didn't know whether to be mad or happy with us? Remember?”

The back of Harry’s legs bumped into the foot of the bed, but it didn’t matter. Ron had stopped coming towards him, his expression now cautious.

"We were at Fortescue's together yesterday," Harry continued quickly, "and then Fawkes was flying towards us and then there was all of that light and ever since then things have been really messed up, haven't they? And we need to get out of here before things get really bad because—Ron!"

Ron had collapsed down to his knees, his whole body was trembling. "Harry?" he whispered from the ground.

"Yes," Harry said relieved as he rushed over to Ron. "Come on, you've got to get up. We have got to get out of here."

Ron didn't make any effort to stand. Instead, he was studying Harry's wand. Then he let out a choked sort of laugh and shook his head. "I can't—Harry, what's going on? Where am I?"

"I told you. We’re in another world. This is Grimmauld Place.”

Ron's head shot up and when he saw Harry's expression his eyes widened. "You’re serious!"

"Deadly and Dumbledore's figured it out. He's on his way right now to question you. Come on, you've got to get up so we can get out of here. I'll explain everything later." 

Ron frowned in confusion, but nodded in understanding. He began to push himself up off the ground, but stumbled back down when a low earthy melodic note filtered into the room. The sound crept into Harry's chest, uplifting him and filling him with dread all at once.  He swore loudly knowing they had run out of time.

"What is that?" Ron said in alarm.

"Fawkes," Harry said. "Dumbledore is here. You have got to get up  _now_."

Ron shook his head. "Harry, I can't… I don't think I can walk far—my legs…"

Harry cursed again, his mind working overdrive. They couldn't just hide under the Cloak, they would be found for sure. All it would take would be one Revealing Charm and a matter of time. No, they had to get out of there and back to the library and—oh why the hell hadn’t he just listened to Hermione…

Wait—Hermione! That was it.

"Ron! The Deluminator! Hermione's here as well—she's safe. She told me about it, get it out now." He pointed his wand at Ron and said the necessary spell to unbind his arms.

Ron didn't need to be told twice. He shakily reached inside his robes and pulled out the Deluminator. A faint blue light was emanating from its tip. Ron smiled and flicked the silver switch on the side. The ball of blue light flew out of the Deluminator and hovered in between them.

"Go!" Harry urged.

"I can't just leave you here," Ron said. "Maybe this thing will take both of us."

Harry glanced at the door. They had no time left... he sent a Locking Charm at the door, hoping to buy them a few precious seconds. "Alright, but if it doesn't work you have to go. I have my Cloak..."

Ron nodded up at Harry as he began to stand. Seeing Ron's legs shake, Harry went around and hoisted him up. "On the count of three," Harry said, holding on to Ron's arm to steady him. "One. Two. Three."

Together, they reached out and touched the light, but when nothing happened, Harry's suspicions were confirmed—it was only meant for Ron...

"There's got to be another way," Ron said. "This isn't like before—“

"There isn't," Harry whispered furiously. "Just go!"

"No, Harry, listen—“

"Dammit, Ron. Just—“

Then the door flew open with a deafening bang, drowning out Harry’s next words. Fawkes swooped into the bedroom and out of sight, but Harry's eyes were too fixed on the doorway to follow his flight. Harry hadn’t been quick enough…

Dumbledore was there and his expression was mutinous.

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

Harry had been perfectly willing and ready to march up to Fortescue's, sit down, and wait for Malfoy—elder or son—to show up, but Remus wouldn't hear of it. Unlike Harry, Remus was a planner. Remus was overly cautious. Remus ended up taking another forty five minutes to gather and plan before they headed out of Headquarters and Harry was going to bloody kill him if they had already missed this mystery person.

"I admit. I'm  _very_  intrigued."

Dorcas Meadows, a fellow Order member, was now standing behind Harry on her tip toes, trying to peer out of the window Harry was looking through. "It can't be an attack," she mused out loud. "Dumbledore would have sent the Aurors, not you and Remus."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not an attack," he said. "You know they don't attack magical territory."

"Yet," Dorcas added emphatically. "It's only a matter of time before they get tired of attacking Muggles and come after us. The Muggleborns are virtually gone, minus your mum and a few others. The Ministry and Prophet are essentially theirs, and I'm willing to bet a handful of those people down there are Imperiused. It's not going to be long before he comes back out in the open."

Harry turned away from the window. "Are you trying to be depressing?"

"I'd like to think of it as a healthy dose of realism," Dorcas said, handing him a cup. "Here, I made you some tea."

Harry was currently in Dorcas' flat above Amanuensis Quills. From her living room window, a stretch of Diagon Alley could be seen including Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Remus had stationed Harry up there to watch Fortescue's from a safe distance. He didn't want Harry entering a situation he couldn't handle, namely Lucius Malfoy. Remus, meanwhile, had transfigured his hair and face and was now sitting outside of Fortescue's at a corner table that was half hidden in the shadows.

"Remus shows up partially disguised with you in tow and reminds me  _I owe him one_ ," Dorcas continued as Harry took the proffered cup. "Now he's sitting at an ice cream parlor with you as his backup— _your_ _disguise is terrible_ by the way. That's what this is right? The hair, the robes, and the glasses? What in Merlin's name did I miss last night?"

Harry sighed and took a sip of tea. This was exactly why he didn't want to come there. Dorcas had missed the Order meeting the night before because she had been in France on business. She was unaware of everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours and Harry was in no mood to explain it.

"Are you going to tell me? Or are you going to make _me_ do all the work?"

"Sod off," Harry scowled.

Dorcas grinned. "Sorry kid, I couldn't resist."

What Dorcas couldn't resist exactly was teasing Harry about his piss poor Occlumency skills. Harry _hated_ Occlumency, but unfortunately for him it was required to be an Order member. Dorcas had been the one to teach Harry and loved to remind him how hard it had been for him to learn. Scowl still in place, Harry turned and looked back out the window hoping for signs of Malfoy so he could get the hell out of there. He wasn't in the mood to be teased and he certainly wasn’t in the mood to rehash the day's events. Unfortunately for him, neither Malfoy were anywhere to be seen.

"Don't make me ask you again."

Harry groaned and glanced at Dorcas over his glasses. She was leaning against the window frame to his right with her long lean arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. If she wasn't going to let it go then Harry was hardly going to feel guilty about being blunt.

"Fine. Someone broke into Headquarters yesterday." 

But as soon as he said it, he regretted his approach. Dorcas was not someone who appreciated jokes. In fact, Harry had been terrified of her as a child. She openly hated kids and noise and pranks and pretty much anything his father or Sirius said. Harry would never have the gall to joke with her, but given her angry expression it was clear that's what she thought this was—a joke. "No really," he said. "Someone—“

"I heard you the first time," Dorcas snapped. "What I'd like to know is why no one bothered to tell me? That should have been the first thing that came out of your sodding mouths the moment you two walked through my front door! Bloody hell—I can't believe this! Where are we meeting now? Who was it? Was anyone—“

"Calm down," Harry said. "Everyone is fine... and we're still using Grimmauld Place as Headquarters."

And when Dorcas gave him the most skeptical look he had ever seen, he launched into everything that had happened: The Obliviation happening sometime after work the day before. The intruder who looked like Harry's spitting image Disapparating from Headquarters like it was nothing. Moody believing the intruder was Harry under the Imperius. The Weasley twins capturing some bloke who looked liked their brother, Ron, at the Burrow. The intact wards surrounding Headquarters and the Burrow despite the two intrusions. Intruder Ron's strange reaction to the Veritaserum and to Harry, himself. And how Dumbledore thought the two intruders were not only connected, but were under the impression that their identities were Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.

Harry still shivered at the thought. That there was bloke out there who thought he was him—Harry.

"Is Dumbledore out of his mind," Dorcas said when Harry stopped to catch his breath. "That is impossible. I'm half tempted to cart you off to St. Mungos just for telling me."

"Now you know why I didn't want to," he grumbled.

Dorcas studied him for a moment before looking over her shoulder and gesturing out the window. "Alright. Say for a moment I believe you. What does any of this have to do with what you and Remus are doing?"

"Well this morning I got a letter from—“

" _Malfoy_?"

"Yeah—I mean, what? How did you—“

But then Harry realized Dorcas hadn't guessed why Remus and he were there. She had pushed Harry over and was squinting out of the window towards Fortescue's...

"What is he doing back already?" Dorcas muttered to herself.

"Who?" Harry asked, his heart quickening.

"Malfoy!" She said, turning towards him and pointing out the window. "There! At Fortescue's. He's not supposed to come back from France until tomorrow morning. How is he here?"

Harry didn't have an answer for her—hell, he didn't have any answers right then. Answers were what he was looking for. He looked out the window towards Fortescue's and his stomach did a little flip. Draco Malfoy was sitting alone at a front row table just outside of the parlor clearly looking for someone.

"Harry!"

Harry nearly jumped when he heard Remus's quiet but urgent voice in his ear. He had almost forgotten he was wearing a Walk and Talk Ear, an invention of the Weasley twins to help Order Auror's communicate over long distances during missions. "Harry! Are you there? He's here."

Harry touched his right ear to activate the device. "Yeah, I see him. I'm coming."

"You've got to be kidding me," Dorcas said, grabbing Harry's arm. "You were waiting on  _Malfoy_?"

"Dorcas—please," he said. "I don't have time to explain. I need to get down there."

"Then make time," she demanded. "That little twit made sure I was back from France a day early so he could go recruit with Roberts." Dorcas let out a bitter laugh. "I don't even know why they try to be subtle anymore. My  _urgent_  meeting with Umbridge that I just  _had_  to come back for this morning was conveniently cancelled."

Dorcas worked in the International Magical Law Office and Harry had completely forgotten she worked there with Malfoy—it was difficult to keep track of who was keeping tabs on who, but that didn't matter right then…

"He knows the impostors—Ron and the other me," Harry explained, trying to pry his arm from her grip. "That's why I look like this. This is what the other Harry looks like. Remus and I are going to lure him to my safe house and interrogate him."

Dorcas shook her head at him. "That can't be right, Harry. He's been with me since Monday. You don't understand—the next available Portkey isn't until  _tomorrow_."

"Harry!" Remus called out in his ear again.

"I don't know. I’ll explain later,” Harry said to Dorcas. “Please, I've got to figure this out."

"I'm coming with you then—“

"No!" Harry exclaimed, finally freeing himself. "Watch from here if you like, but do  _not_  follow me. I've got to do this alone." Dorcas just looked at him in disbelief, so he added a desperate, "please!" as he backed away towards the door. She glanced back out the window then nodded at him. He took that as her word and sprinted off through the door.

"I'm coming," he said to Remus, clambering down the stairs and into the side alley. "Dorcas was being difficult. I told you we should’ve never have come here."

"Calm down," Remus whispered. "Don't come out here all worked up."

“Calm down?” Harry said through a clenched jaw. “Dorcas left Malfoy in France this morning. She works with him!”

Remus cursed underneath his breath.  “How did I forget that?" he muttered, more to himself than not. "But never mind all that.  He’s here now. We stick to the plan.”

Harry took a deep breath at the bottom of the stairs. He honestly didn't know what to think about what Dorcas had said, but Remus was right. The fact that Malfoy was sitting at Fortescue's couldn't be a coincidence.  He'd worry about what Dorcas had said later... 

He took one more calming breath then headed out into the cobblestone street.  “Alright,” he said to Remus. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Remember what I told you,” Remus whispered. “I’ll meet you at your safe house. Apparition from the table is a last resort.”

Harry didn’t respond to that because he honestly didn’t know how else he was going to do this. Both him and Remus agreed that like Ron, Malfoy probably wasn’t going to give out any vital information before he figured out that Harry wasn’t who Malfoy thought he was—this meant Harry needed to lure Malfoy to a private location so they could interrogate him further.  Remus didn’t feel safe interrogating a known Death Eater just anywhere for fear of being followed, but bringing Malfoy to Order territory was no simple task. All Order buildings, homes, and safe houses were under the Fidelius Charm—something Dumbledore had initiated years ago after several Order members and their families had been killed. The Charm kept Order members safe, but made bringing visitors impossible unless one was the Secret Keeper…

And Harry was the Secret Keeper to only one building: his safe house.

He was less then keen to bring Malfoy there, but he was willing to do so in order to figure out the mystery of his doppelganger.  Besides, it wasn’t like Malfoy would remember. The modified Obliviation Charm had been around for years, making it possible to erase the secret from people you didn’t want to have it anymore.

The plan was fool-proof minus the part of actually getting Malfoy  _to_  the safe house.  Remus wanted Harry to do it discretely, but Harry wasn’t sure that was going to be possible…

Either way though, his nerves tingled with excitement as he approached Fortescue’s. He spotted Malfoy still sitting at the same front row table and his heart started beating wildly.  Then Malfoy noticed him coming and Harry took another deep breath because there was no turning back. This was it. Malfoy was staring at him and Harry was looking right back. Yet the closer Harry got to the table the more he realized something wasn't quite right...

The Draco Malfoy Harry knew—had been expecting and mentally prepared for—was not there... 

Oh, it was still Malfoy, that much was certain, but he was no longer the aristocratic and aloof bloke Harry knew him to be. Instead, he was fidgeting in his seat and giving everyone who passed the side-eye. His skin was paler then usual, so pale that he looked ill. There were dark circles underneath his eyes and his normally sleek blond hair was falling into his face. Then as Harry looked closer, he noticed a poorly glamoured bruise over Malfoy’s right temple.  Harry was nearly positive the Malfoy’s had rules against leaving the house like this, but there Malfoy was, looking like total and absolute shit.

Harry was speechless. Though he couldn't help but think of Malfoy’s letter and how it suddenly made more sense… 

“Harry,” Remus groaned in his ear, startling him out of his thoughts. “You’re staring— _say_  something.”

Merlin, Harry  _was_  staring and he had been too lost in his thoughts to notice the death glare that Malfoy was now giving him.  Harry swallowed and tried to think of something to say but Malfoy beat him to it. 

"I know you are the very definition of uncouth, Potter, but even you should know it's rude to stare."

Harry blinked then marginally relaxed.  _This_  is what he had been expecting—snarky jibs and malice and some explanation of why Ron wasn’t so keen on the guy—not some nervous mess.  Harry didn’t know what this other Harry’s relationship was with Malfoy, so he had no idea how to respond. He knew how he  _wanted_  to respond, but Harry didn't think that would go over so well. So instead he settled on rolling his eyes, taking a seat across from Malfoy, and changing the subject.

"You wanted to see me? I got your post this morning."

“Obviously,” Malfoy drawled, but Harry didn't miss the relief that flashed across his features.  Malfoy leaned back into his chair and studied Harry carefully. “To be honest though, I didn’t think you’d get it.”

“Well I did,” Harry said, for lack of anything better to say. “And nice post owl, by the way. He didn’t know his own arse from his beak.”

Malfoy's brows shot up. "What is this?" he said, his lips twitching with apparent amusement. "Do I hear a hint of post owl snobbery coming from our Golden Boy? Blaise will be so pleased."

_‘Golden Boy?’_  Harry thought, blinking.  _‘Post owl snobbery?’_ He had just been trying to lighten the mood…

Malfoy rolled his eyes, “I was just joking, Potter. As for the owl, I didn't have a choice. I had to make sure it would be you..."

Harry didn't dare say anything. He just nodded, hoping to appear understanding. He was praying that Malfoy would divulge the information on his own. He patiently watched as Malfoy nervously scanned Diagon Alley. Then after a moment, Malfoy redirected his gaze to Harry and leaned forward over the table.  “What exactly happened yesterday—what’s going on?”

“I…” Harry started, caught off guard by Malfoy’s earnest confusion. “I don’t know.”

“But you’ve noticed right?” Malfoy said desperately.

“I—yes,” Harry stuttered out. Then Malfoy flinched as a man passed by too closely and an idea struck Harry. "Maybe," he added in mock nervousness, “we should find somewhere else to talk."

“Why?” Malfoy said, frowning. “You think it will happen again?”

Harry didn’t know what  _it_  was, but he decided to roll with it.  “It happened once, right?”

Malfoy studied him and then he looked out towards the cobblestone street.  “I don’t even know  _what_  happened so how should I know if it will happen again," he said bitterly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then decided against it and visibly swallowed.  He looked intently at Harry and leaned over the table again. “What happened to you yesterday after… that light? Where did you go? And where’s everyone else? I tried to find Blaise this morning but…”

There was no way Harry could even begin to answer these questions, but Malfoy had trailed off. Something had caught his attention. His brows were furrowed at a spot above Harry's left shoulder. Harry turned to look as Malfoy said, “Lovegood?”

A young woman with waist long blonde hair and prominent eyes was approaching their table with a hint of a smile on her face.   _‘Lovegood?’_   Harry only knew of one wizarding family with that surname—Selene, his coworker, and her husband. Was this Selene’s daughter?  Harry’s head started spinning.  How would Malfoy be connected to a Lovegood?

His confusion only doubled when this girl sat down at their table without prompt.  If Malfoy was confused by this behavior he didn’t show it. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe, Draco,” she said. “We were very worried.”

“You were?” Malfoy asked, looking questioningly at Harry. Harry nodded for lack of knowing what to do.

“Of course,” she said. Then she cocked her head and frowned. “Here let me fix that for you.  It will only be temporary, but I’m sure Harry has some bruise remover you can use when we get back.”  She pointed her wand at his temple.  A moment later, the bruise along his temple and the dark circles underneath his eyes disappeared.  “There. Now you’re looking more like yourself.”

Meanwhile, panic was rising in Harry’s chest.  He was having a hard enough time fooling Malfoy—he couldn’t fool two people…And it almost sounded like she already knew that he wasn’t the other Harry—like she had just  _seen_  him…

“Uh—thanks, Lovegood,” Malfoy said. “But what do you mean when we get back? Back where?”

Lovegood smiled vaguely at him then turned towards Harry. Harry tried to remain calm but he felt like she was staring into his very soul.  She extended her hand out to him and said, “Hello Harry, I’m Luna. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Er…” Harry began, trying to think.  Then Remus’s voice interrupted any thought he was about to have.

“She knows—grab him and get out of here. Now!”

“Lovegood,” Malfoy was saying slowly. “You already know, Potter.”

“Of course I know Harry,” she said, “but I don’t know  _this_  Harry.”

Her words goaded Harry into action, he lunged across the table and grabbed Malfoy’s wrist.  He barely got a glimpse of Malfoy’s wide-eyed expression before they were squeezed into the blackness of Apparition…

But Harry hadn’t been quick enough—a small hand seized his arm at the last possible moment.


	11. Out of the Bag

For a long moment the room was still. Harry and Ron stood frozen as Dumbledore’s eyes flicked between them and the hovering ball of blue light.  Then those familiar blue eyes found the Deluminator which was still clutched in Ron’s fist and Dumbledore’s mouth fell open, his angry expression morphing to one of utter surprise.

_‘Oh god,’_  Harry thought, his mind jolting back to life. Dumbledore could only conclude so many things from their possession of the Deluminator and Harry wasn’t keen on any of them.

They had to get out of there...But how? Harry wasn’t sure—not when it came to himself at least, but it was at least obvious how to get Ron out of this mess…

Grateful that Ron’s attention was still on Dumbledore, Harry shoved him towards the light.

“No!” Ron cried out, but it didn’t matter. He was still unsteady on his feet and couldn’t control the unwilling fall towards the light. Harry watched, waiting for Ron to disappear, but the moment never came. Ron landed on the floor.

“I told you,” Ron ground out, glaring up at him. “It’s different than before.”

Harry stared down at Ron. He didn’t care that Ron was angry with him or how the Deluminator was suddenly different.  All he cared about was that it hadn’t worked. The only foreseeable option left was for Harry to talk their way out of this room and—oh god, that wasn’t even really an option. This was  _Dumbledore._  They were completely screwed.

Hermione was going to kill him.

“I imagine so,” Dumbledore said causing Harry’s attention to snap back to the door. “The object you possess is quite remarkable, but I’m afraid it’s not quite powerful enough…”

Dumbledore trailed off then and peered at Harry over his half moon spectacles. Harry wasn’t completely sure what Dumbledore meant, but he had a good guess…And given Dumbledore’s curious expression, it was clear that his mind was whirling with theories.  His intense gaze made Harry squirm with dread. There was no familiar warmth in the man’s eyes. There was only a hungry fascination.

“The possibilities…” Dumbledore continued in a murmur. “They are truly endless. I would have never dreamed of this…”

Harry narrowed his eyes at that because despite the dread he was feeling, he couldn’t help but be annoyed by Dumbledore’s words. “That’s funny,” he said evenly, “because I would’ve never thought I’d find Ron tied up at Order Headquarters with his nerves shot to hell.”

Dumbledore frowned, seeming to come out of his thoughts. “I assure you,” he said, glancing down towards Ron. “That was not our intention.”

“Could have fooled me,” Ron grumbled.

Dumbledore’s frown deepened. “Forgive me. I have gotten ahead of myself—caught up in a moment I had not been expecting…” He paused and looked at Harry and Ron carefully. “I can only imagine how terribly confused you both must be and I’m afraid there has been a grave misunderstanding on our part.”

Harry shook his head. “We’re not confused. It wasn’t that hard to figure out actually.”

“So then you are aware that you are no longer in your world?” Dumbledore ventured carefully.

Harry nodded once, but said nothing. He had been half tempted to lie but knew it would never work—not in the long run. He needed to be careful. The group might need Dumbledore eventually.

“Very well,” Dumbledore conceded with a sigh. “I do suppose it would have been easier to reach this conclusion from your point of view.”

He then peered at them over his nose again and Harry shifted his weight, suddenly aware at how awkward this encounter felt. Dumbledore’s expression was unreadable, but Harry could almost sense the man’s hesitancy. Harry didn’t know if it was because he knew where this conversation was headed or because of his previous experience with Dumbledore back home, but it made him realize one thing.

Harry might be trapped in this room and they might need Dumbledore’s help in the future, but Dumbledore thought he needed  _them_.

Harry just needed to figure out how to use this to his advantage.

“I do hope you gentleman can forgive our reactions to your sudden appearances,” Dumbledore continued a moment later. “We take security very seriously and due to the improbable nature of your arrival…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Harry said, feeling more confident now. “We understand—“

“We do?” Ron asked from the ground.

“Yes—we do,” Harry said emphatically. “We just want to get out of here.”

“Oh. Right—That.”

Dumbledore eyed them curiously. “I appreciate your understanding,” he said. “And I most certainly understand your desire to return home, but I must ask—do you gentlemen happen to know how you came to be in this world in the first place?”

“Not really,” Harry said, playing off Ron’s questioning look. “There was a lot of bright light and voila,” he said with a snap of his fingers. “Now we’re here.”

“I see. And may I ask what you two were doing when this light appeared?”

“We were eating ice cream—nothing exciting.”

“Oh, I think that depends on the ice cream,” Dumbledore said, smiling.

Harry smiled awkwardly back.

“But regardless of how you two got here, I can’t help but be curious. For example, you mentioned only moments ago that this very building was Order Headquarters. I can only assume this means you two are familiar with the Order somehow?”

_‘Damn_ ,’ Harry thought, cursing his earlier comment. The last thing he needed was Dumbledore thinking they were part of the war effort back home. “We are aware of its existence,” he replied vaguely. “Nothing more.”

“So neither of you are Order members?” Dumbledore clarified.

“No—no we’re not,” Harry said, thinking quickly. “So I would understand if you’re hesitant to have us—“

“Oh I assure you,” Dumbledore said, cutting Harry off pleasantly. “If I did not want you here, I’d take you to some unpopulated area and wipe your memories of our location so you could never find us again.”

Harry blinked, feeling suddenly wrong-footed.

“But you can’t do that!” Ron blurted out. “You said last night that no one would be able to find me because this place was under the Fidelius.”

Dumbledore smiled a bit and Harry resisted a strong urge to kick Ron.  “On the contrary,” Dumbledore said, “it has been possible for many years now. An old friend of mine created a memory modification charm strong enough to overcome the Fidelius Charm on my request. It was first cast as early as 1990…” He looked between Harry and Ron. “Are you saying this spell does not exist in your world?”

Ron seemed to have realized his mistake, he didn’t answer Dumbledore.  Harry meanwhile was beginning to realize exactly why Hermione didn’t want to come here without knowing anything about this world first.

“Because if it doesn’t exist in your world,” Dumbledore continued, his eyes now solely on Harry. “I can’t help but wonder what else is different. Why did I not seek to have this spell created?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said honestly, but his confidence was slipping. Dumbledore’s hesitancy was all but gone now. The excited gleam was back in his eyes and Harry still felt wrong-footed.

“Of course,” Dumbledore said, nodding. “Forgive my musings, but perhaps you could at least answer this for me—given that your world has an Order, I can only assume that Lord Voldemort is still a threat in your world…or has he by some miraculous turn of events been defeated?”

Harry swallowed. He had to get out of there…

But he didn’t know how and he was only fooling himself for thinking he could somehow fool Dumbledore.  A bubble of panic began to rise up inside of him as a heavy silence enveloped the room.  Dumbledore just kept bloody peering at him, clearly waiting for the answer that Harry was unwilling to give…

Apparently though, Harry’s silence was answer enough.

“Perhaps the important question to ask is not how you to came to be here but _why_? Have you considered the possibility that you were brought here for a reason, Mr. Potter?”

Harry shook his head, unable to say anything. Dumbledore’s words had been gentle and cautious and Harry had been expecting them—except for that last bit, maybe—but they still made his lungs clench.  He could see Ron looking up towards him and he felt overwhelmingly trapped.  The bubble of panic that had been growing inside him burst and full-blown panic began welling up in its place… He didn’t have the upper hand… Ron was wandless and damaged… How was he going to get them out of there…? He needed to get out of there… the others couldn’t even come rescue them if something happened… What had he been thinking…? He didn’t want to do this…

He  _couldn’t_  do this…

There was a rustling of feathers and something nudged Harry’s left arm.  He glanced down to find Fawkes perched on the bedpost nearest to him; Harry had been too distracted by Dumbledore to notice before. Fawkes let out a soft croon and Harry felt the panic coursing through him ebb away. He let out one long shaky breath and reached out to stroke Fawkes’s beak, grateful. 

Then Harry heard Ron shift and he was brought back to reality. Dumbledore was still watching him, but now his expression was so hopeful that Harry could hardly bear to look at it.

“Fawkes seems very fond of you,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry said, fighting down the panic that was threatening to return. “I’ve always had a way with birds.”

Fawkes squawked indignantly causing Dumbledore to chuckle, but the moment didn’t last long. Dumbledore’s expression turned serious as he met Harry’s eyes. “Lord Voldemort is no longer in your world, is he?”

Harry shook his head minutely, knowing he couldn’t deny it and have Dumbledore believe him.

“And you know how to defeat him,” Dumbledore said, looking between Harry and Ron, “both of you.”

Harry swallowed, not wanting to say it, but not knowing how to avoid it. Fortunately for him, Ron chose the perfect moment to catch on.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “You think we were brought here to help you defeat You-Know-Who?”

Dumbledore peered down at Ron and nodded. “To put it succinctly—yes.”

Ron let out a short laugh. “I don’t think so,” he said and given any other situation, Harry would have laughed at Ron’s bluntness. 

“I understand your misgivings,” Dumbledore said, unfazed, “but this world is in terrible danger and we are quickly approaching a brink—it will only be a matter of time before Voldemort’s reign is upon us.”

“Yeah,” Ron said flatly. “That’s not our problem. That’s your problem.”

Dumbledore furrowed his brow at Ron before looking back up at Harry beseechingly.  “The forces of evil in this world are beyond my control. Innocent people are dying every day and—“

“Again,” Ron interrupted coldly. “That’s not our problem—not in the slightest.”

“Ron,” Harry said.  He was thankful for Ron’s support, but this approach wasn’t going to do them any favors if they needed the Order in future. Unfortunately, Ron didn’t know of Hermione’s plans. “It’s fine…”

“It’s not bloody fine,” Ron snapped. “You can’t honestly believe that!”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to think. But all he realized was that Ron was right. Harry didn’t want to burn potential bridges in this world, but what was he willing to sacrifice in order to do that? Harry had come here to rescue Ron so they could avoid being pulled into the war—or whatever it was…He had come here to ensure his choices would remain his own.

He looked back to Dumbledore who was watching their interaction with a frown.  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but we can’t help you.”

Dumbledore didn’t answer right away. It felt like a whole minute later when he spoke. “Very well,” he said with a nod. “Forgive my presumptions. I am an old man who has been blinded by his own desperation…I do hope, however, that you will at least accept my sincerest apologies and an offering of peace. The Order truly means you no harm.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you."

“Yeah—thanks,” Ron said, “but does this mean you’re letting us go?”

Dumbledore smiled politely. “I suppose in essence I am, but if I may ask, where do you gentlemen plan on staying?”

“We’ll find a place,” Harry said with a sense of trepidation. “We’ll be fine. “

Dumbledore nodded. “I’m sure you boys are more than capable at handling yourselves, but why put yourselves in unnecessary danger? I understand your attitude in staying out of the war effort, but like it or not, this world is not safe.  Why not stay here?—or with your parents, I am certain they would be more than happy to—“

“No,” Harry said more forcibly than he intended, but he couldn’t help it.  The thought of staying with his parents or even here at Headquarters was unbearable. His mind automatically drifted to the pictures downstairs—Harry didn’t belong there and he didn’t want to be there either. “No,” he repeated, his voice calmer. “We’ll be fine. More than fine. Trust me.”

“I understand, but I cannot in good conscience send you away,” Dumbledore said. “I implore you to reconsider—you do not realize the dangers this world holds—“

Harry guffawed and shook his head. “You have no idea,” he said, growing frustrated. “From what I’ve seen this world is fine.” 

Images of the Dementors in Ottery St. Catchpole and Hermione’s ghost crept into the corners of his mind, but Harry pushed them away…

His parents were alive. Sirius and Remus were alive. Dumbledore was alive. Everything Harry had ever wanted was here in this world. His counterpart even had a sodding brother…

This world was  _fine_.

“I assure you, what you see outside is only an illusion,” Dumbledore said calmly. “We live in constant fear—if Voldemort were to learn of you—“

“THEN SO WHAT?” Harry bellowed. It was clear to him what Dumbledore was doing and he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.  “You think I don’t know what that’s like?—To have him after me? It’ll just be like good ole times back in my own bloody world! I’m not staying here. So are you going to let us out or are we going to have to force our way out?”

He stared determinately at Dumbledore, his breathing heavy. He saw Ron trying to stand and seeing him struggle, Harry helped hoist him up again. Then they stood side by side, boosting Harry’s confidence. He doubted he’d ever be able to out duel Dumbledore, but he was going to make damn sure Dumbledore knew that he didn’t want to be there.

Dumbledore was staring at the pair of them with his mouth slightly open.

“Oh and before we go,” Ron said. “I’d like my wand back. I’d hate to be without it in such a dangerous world.”

“Please,” Dumbledore said, his voice laced with heavy disappointment. “Please don’t make this any harder then it already is…”

Harry raised his wand. “I’m not the one making this hard, sir.” He then pointed his wand directly at Dumbledore, preparing himself for whatever might come, but that moment never came.

The whole room went still again when Hermione’s trembling voice unexpectedly filled it.

_“…but it makes perfect sense! Without Ron or Harry—_ oh god _, where is he?”_ There was a loud choked sob. _“He should be back by now…”_

Harry exchanged a look of alarm with Ron before looking down towards Ron’s hand. Ron was still holding the Deluminator in which Hermione’s voice had just emanated.  Blue light began glowing from its tip and Ron automatically clicked the silver switch on its side. A second ball of light zoomed out of the silver tip and joined the first which was still hovering in the room.  There was a brief moment in which Harry, Ron, and Dumbledore all stared at the lights in unison. Then the two balls flew towards Harry and Ron and into their chests...

Then Harry heard Ron's laughter and he was spinning—leaving Grimmauld Place and a stunned, disappointed Dumbledore far behind.

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

Elbows dug into Harry’s side, his vision was blurred by blonde hair and pale limbs, his lungs were being painfully compressed, but Harry determinedly kept focused. He had to make it to his safe house and just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, air filled his lungs and he landed in an awkward heap. He caught a glimpse of a familiar small white house nearby and knew they had made it…

And yet, he didn’t have any time for relief. Malfoy was cursing underneath him and Lovegood was positioned on top of him.  Harry hastily untangled himself—cursing his oversized robes all the while—twisting and pushing Lovegood off of him then elbowing his way up to his knees off of an enraged Malfoy.

“Are you out of you mind,” Malfoy spat. “If I find so much as a— _what are you doing_?”

Harry had pulled out his wand and pointed it directly at Malfoy.  He sent a quick Disarming Spell as Malfoy belatedly fumbled for his wand. Then the color drained from Malfoy’s face as the wand flew out of his pocket and into Harry’s hand. Malfoy glanced fleetingly over at Lovegood, his eyes wide. “You’re—you’re not—“

“’Fraid not,” Harry said, quickly standing before Malfoy decided to lunge at him. He backed away a few steps before turning his wand towards the girl—the unexpected tagalong. She had just managed to stand and Harry flicked his wand at her before she could pull out her own…

But she surprised him. She already had her wand readied at her side and she deflected the red stream of light with surprising ease. Harry barely dodged his own spell which had shot back at him when his legs suddenly flew out from under him. He landed hard on his back, his lungs protesting painfully.

“Oh!” Lovegood said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t mean to do that one.”

“Who cares,” Malfoy said as Harry struggled to breathe. “Hit him again!”

Harry rolled away from them and onto his side to defend himself. Lovegood had her wand pointed directly at him and Malfoy was scrambling to his feet, then there was a tell-tale  _crack_  and Harry thanked Merlin himself.

Remus had joined them, appearing just behind the other two.  He disarmed Lovegood as she spun around towards the sound. Malfoy, however, either didn’t hear the noise or didn’t care. He was now towering over Harry, his eyes set on his wand. Harry quickly pointed both wands at him and cried, “ _Confute!_ ”

Malfoy’s eyes widened and he tried to dodge, but he was too close to manage. The spell hit him in the stomach and he instantly stilled. Harry sighed in relief and clambered back onto his feet.

“Oh dear,” Lovegood was saying as Remus bound her arms behind her back. “That didn’t go very well.”

Remus shot Harry a quizzical look over the girl’s shoulder and Harry shrugged in response. “What business do you have with Draco Malfoy?” Remus asked her.

“Business?” she said curiously. “None I don’t think.”

Meanwhile, Harry had bound Malfoy’s arm behind his back and released the spell that held him still. “Don’t tell them anything!” Malfoy spat, jerking away from him. He marched over to the girl and glared at Remus. “Who the hell are you?—And you!?” He added, spinning back around towards Harry. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Remus grabbed both Malfoy and Lovegood by the upper arm and began ushering them towards the house. “Unfortunately you’re not in a position to be making any demands,” he said. “Come on.”

Harry hurried forwards, unlocked the front door with a flick of his wand, and swung the door open. Then he exchanged a look with Remus. Two familiar voices were coming from down the front hall…

“—I’m fine, really—what are you doing here?”

“Remus demanded my presence—this better be bloody good, otherwise I’m going to—“

“Oi!” Remus called out from the stoop. “I can hear you!”

A moment later, Harry’s mum popped out of the sitting room with Sirius following soon behind. They were both covered in soot from head to toe. They both gave Harry a puzzled look, but when they spotted who he was bringing inside, their mouths feel open.

“Merlin,” Harry’s mum said. “I thought Dorcas had lost her mind—what is going on?”

Harry sighed and gestured towards Malfoy who was blinking at Sirius and Harry’s mum. “It’s a long story, but we think Malfoy here knows the two impostors.”

Malfoy choked and turned to Harry, his expression incredulous. “You’re joking, right?”

“Er—no.”

“Don’t worry,” Lovegood whispered loudly to Malfoy. “They’re just confused. I suspect a serious infestation.”

Harry must have given her a funny look because she smiled at him and winked. Harry shook his head and turned back to his mum and Sirius. So far, this girl was turning out to be far odder than her mother.

And Sirius seemed to be in agreement. He was looking her up and down with furrowed brows. “And who is this?”

“Luna Lovegood,” Harry explained. “I didn’t mean to bring her…but come on, let’s go in the sitting room. We’ll talk in there.”

The group made their way down the hall and into the open room. It may have been his safe-house, but Harry was hardly ever there, so while the room was furnished and decorated it had a distinct unlived in feel. The only sign of recent life were two sets of black footprints and a wide pile of soot which had spilled out of the fireplace. Both had obviously been caused by his mum and Sirius who were currently siphoning soot off each other’s robes.

“Merlin, did you two forget how to Floo?” Harry asked as he helped Remus guide Malfoy and Lovegood into a pair of neighboring chairs.  

“No,” Sirius said, wiping his face with his sleeves. “We just came through at the same time.”

“More like you Flooed on top of me,” Harry’s mum muttered.

“How was I supposed to know Dorcas was going to tell you to come here—I didn’t think I’d have to make sure the Floo was free,” Sirius said. “Remus said it was urgent.”

Harry sat down on a sofa across from Malfoy and Lovegood, now fully understanding why his mum was there.  Dorcas didn’t have access to his safe house, so instead she had contacted Harry’s mum to come in her place. Dumbledore encouraged limited access to safe houses and each Order member decided solely on who had knowledge of their respective sanctums.  Only Harry’s parents, brother, Remus, Sirius, and Neville could come to his…and now, he thought with a sigh, Lovegood and Malfoy.

“It  _was_  urgent,” Remus said, sitting down next to Harry. “I could have used you a few seconds earlier.”

“And have Lily floo on top me?” Sirius said in mock horror. “Never.”

Harry’s mum rolled her eyes. “ _I_ look before I use.”

“As lovely as this little  _reunion_  is,” Malfoy snapped impatiently, “would someone care to explain to me what in Salazar’s name is going on!?” 

“Ah,” Sirius said, clapping Malfoy’s shoulder. “I’m glad there could be some familial bonding today.”  Malfoy blinked and looked up at Sirius as if he were insane, but Sirius didn’t notice. His gaze was on Harry and Remus. “Which one of you would like to explain why you thought bringing a Death Eater and his little sidekick to one of our safe houses was a good idea?”

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but he was beat out by five gritted words.

“I’m not a Death Eater.”

Malfoy jerked away from Sirius as he said it and when his statement was met with four very dubious looks, his eyes flashed with anger.  “I’m not,” he said vehemently.

Sirius let out a short bark-like laugh. “You have a lot of gall denying that, kid.”

“Don’t lecture me on gall,” Malfoy spat.

“It’s alright, Draco,” Luna said calmly, crossing her legs underneath herself. “I know you’re not a Death Eater.”

Everyone, including Malfoy, looked at her in bewilderment.

“And it’s not very nice to make that accusation,” Lovegood continued, addressing Sirius.

“With all due respect Miss Lovegood,” Remus said before Sirius could react. “We have evidence suggesting Mr. Malfoy has been a Death Eater since his graduation from Hogwarts, but that’s not why we brought him here. We were hoping he would shed some light on two intrusions that occurred yesterday afternoon. We have reason to believe Mr. Malfoy is connected to at least one of these individuals.”

Lovegood smiled serenely at Remus, but said nothing. Malfoy, on the other hand, was staring at Remus with his mouth slightly open. “What did you just say?” he said faintly.

Remus exchanged a look with Harry’s mum and Sirius. “I said you were brought here to answer some questions concerning two intrusions we have—“

“No—no,” Malfoy said, cutting Remus off. “Before that—you’ve had evidence since  _when_?”

“Of your Death Eater status?” Remus said quirking a brow. “Since your graduation, but like I said…”

But then Remus trailed off because it was clear Malfoy wasn’t listening anymore.  His eyes were narrowed and darting between Harry, Remus, Sirius, and Harry’s mum—scrutinizing them. Then his eyes grew wide and he whipped his head towards Lovegood as if seeking confirmation. When she gave him a small smile and a nod, he started shaking his head. “No,” he said, weakly, “it’s not possible.”

“Like I said,” Lovegood said quietly, “we were very worried about you.”

Malfoy looked at her hard then visibly swallowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He demanded in a whisper.

“Because,” she said simply, “people are much more likely to believe the truth when it doesn’t come from me.”

Malfoy let out a shaky breath, looked down at his lap, and swore. Lovegood leaned back in her chair and looked between everyone—almost daring them to ask what they all desperately wanted to know. It was Sirius who broke.

“What are you two on about?”

“Don’t tell them,” Malfoy said morosely, still looking at his lap. “They’ll never believe us.”

Sirius opened his mouth to retort, but Harry's mum held up her hand to stop him. “We are willing to listen,” she said cautiously.

Malfoy looked up after a moment and sighed. “There was some talk of intrusions,” he said dully. “Who were they?”

“Yes,” Remus said hesitantly. “One of them bared a remarkable resemblance to Harry, but he escaped before we could question him.”

“Typical,” Malfoy muttered.

“Typical?” Sirius asked. “What is that supposed to mean? This Harry goes breaking through wards on a regular basis?”

Malfoy gave Sirius a deprecating look. “It means he’s lucky.”

“So you do know him—this other Harry,” Remus said, clarifying.

“Of course I do,” Malfoy said impatiently. “Why do you think I was—hey wait a minute, my letter, how did you know it was from me?”

And despite Harry’s overall confusion, he couldn’t help but feel a small ounce of satisfaction. He exchanged a small look with Remus. “We have our methods,” he said.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him. “You mentioned two intrusions. Potter may have gotten away but the other one didn’t, did they? Then you fooled them in deciphering that note—you don’t even really look like that, do you?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Remus said calmly as Harry gaped at Malfoy. “But please, what can you tell us about this other Harry?”

Malfoy ignored Remus and turned to Lovegood. “Do you know who they captured?”

“It's Ronald,” she answered softly.

“It would be Weasley that gave me away,” Malfoy said bitterly.

“Alright,” Sirius said tightly. “I’ve had enough of this little game. You two have five seconds to tell us what’s going on or else—“

“Sirius—Wait!” Harry’s mum said, pushing him back and away from Malfoy and Lovegood. “James mentioned something last night—a theory as we were going to bed. I thought he was just joking, but he said he was going to check on it at work today to see it was even a possibility.”

“I knew he told you,” Harry grumbled underneath his breath.

“Well what is it,” Sirius asked impatiently.

Harry’s mum waved Sirius off, she was looking at Malfoy and Lovegood with her head cocked to one side. “You two aren’t from here, are you?”

Malfoy stilled at her words, but Lovegood smiled encouragingly.

Harry looked on in confusion, as did Sirius, but it went unnoticed as Harry’s mum continued, “You are both from a place where Mr. Malfoy didn’t become one of Voldemort’s followers upon graduation from Hogwarts, but instead at a different point in time.  You must be because that is the very information that tipped you off.”

Malfoy looked at her warily, not confirming nor denying her theory.

“Uh, Lily,” Sirius said. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Don’t you see,” Harry’s mum said breathlessly. “These two are from another world—and so is the boy who looks like Harry and Ronald Weasley—Oh! Remus—The Veritaserum—you were right! It all makes sense. He really  _didn’t_  know so of course he couldn’t tell the truth!”

Harry’s mum looked around the room excitedly, but no one seemed to share her excitement. Even Lovegood was now frowning slightly—as to why Harry didn’t know, but he honestly didn’t care. He was too stunned by his mum’s words…

_Another world?_

It wasn’t possible was it?

But she was right; it made sense—a lot of sense. The disguises that wouldn’t go away. Ron’s inexplicable trust in Harry. Why Harry received Malfoy’s note—the owls wouldn’t understand which Harry Potter to deliver it to because the other Harry wasn’t an imposter, he was another Harry Potter…

“Bloody hell,” Harry groaned. His mum flashed him a sympathetic smile.

Sirius meanwhile was rubbing his temples. “It’s not possible,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no way.”

“Anything is possible,” Lovegood said matter-of-factly.

“Uh…no,” Sirius said slowly. “Plenty of things aren’t possible and dimensional travel is right up there with fooling those goblins at Gringotts and surviving the Killing Curse.”

Luna smiled indulgently as Malfoy let out a loud snort. “I knew you wouldn’t believe us,” he said.

“Because it’s not possible,” Sirius cried out. “I would know! I used to look up this crap on my summers home from Hogwarts. There are plenty of theories on alternate dimensions, but nothing on the travel between them!”

“I don’t know, Sirius,” Remus said thoughtfully. “I think we should at least consider it and hear what James has to say. It certainly makes sense. It would explain why they can get through the wards—the wards would recognize them as their counterparts.”

“You’re just forgetting one tiny little detail, Remus. Harry can’t Apparate through the wards at Headquarters!”

Remus frowned then Harry’s mum chimed in, “Perhaps that was just some glitch in the wards… or maybe we are allowed to Apparate in and out of Headquarters in this other world.”

“A glitch in the wards?” Sirius scoffed and then he looked around to Remus and Harry for support. When he didn’t get it, he threw his hands up in frustration. “Oh come on! I can’t be the only one who thinks this is rubbish!”

“The signs are pointing to yes,” Lovegood sang. Sirius scowled at her and Harry had to quell a strong urge to laugh.

“Fine,” Sirius said. “Since I’m the only one seeing reason, I’m going to go find Dumbledore. We’ll see what he has to say about all of this inter-dimensional nonsense.”

“Fair enough,” Remus conceded. “We need to alert him anyway. I’m sure he’ll want to speak with these—“

“No!”

The sudden outcry had come from Malfoy and everyone turned towards him in question. The panic was evident on Malfoy's face, but so was the determination. “No," he repeated. "You can’t—I’m not speaking to that man. I refuse!”

Remus, Harry, Sirius, and Harry’s mum all shared a look. Not telling Dumbledore wasn’t even close to being an option. They couldn’t keep this from him—not with Ron Weasley tied back up at Headquarters and everything else that had been going on.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” Remus said.

Malfoy glared at everyone in the room. “If you think I’m going cooperate and just willingly talk to him you are out of your minds!”

“Scared Malfoy?” Sirius taunted then he grinned wildly. “That’s right, because even if you’re from another world, you’re still just a pathetic little Death Eater, aren’t you?”

Malfoy glared at Sirius hatefully, his chest heaving.

Sirius turned away from him and began crossing the room towards the fireplace. “Alright,” he said, grabbing a handful of glittery powder. “I’ll let you lot know what he says.”

“How utterly predictable,” Malfoy spat as Sirius tossed the powder into the grate, “you were Dumbledore’s  _lapdog_  back home so why should it be any different here.”

Flames erupted in front of Sirius, but he didn't step into them. He stood frozen to the spot, his frame illuminated by the green light. Time seemed to slow because it almost sounded as if Malfoy  _knew_ …

“Sirius,” Remus said tightly. “Just go.”

But Sirius either didn’t hear Remus or didn’t care. He turned slowly back around. “What did you just say?” 

Malfoy blinked. His mouth fell open, but then a smirk spread gradually across his face. “Oh don’t tell me,” he said gleefully.

“Don’t tell you what?” Sirius said through a clenched jaw.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. It was his turn to grin wildly. “You are an unregistered animagus—a big shaggy black dog—and Dumbledore doesn’t know.”

Harry exchanged an alarmed look with Remus and his mum. Malfoy had just spilled not only Sirius’s biggest secret, but also Harry’s, his mum’s, his dad’s, and most recently his brother’s.

Back when Harry’s parents were in school, Harry’s dad, Sirius, and Peter—who had died when Harry was only nine—had learned how to become animagi in order to help Remus with his monthly transformations. They had never registered while they were at Hogwarts because they had been underage and traipsing around with a werewolf illegally. After Hogwarts though, the war with Voldemort had turned brutal and the four friends had never revealed their secret in case they ever needed to sneak away undetected…

Eventually Harry’s dad had taught Harry’s mother and then when Harry had passed his O.W.L.’s his dad had taught him as well.  Currently, he was teaching Jude who had just received his own passing O.W.L. results just a few weeks before.  It was their biggest secret—their ultimate escape plan if things went truly awry, not only from You-Know-Who but also from Dumbledore and the Order…

Sirius’s chest was heaving now; his eyes were narrowed at Malfoy. Harry, Remus, and Harry’s mum could only look on in horror…this had gotten completely out of hand…

“And,” Malfoy added to his proclamation, “if you go  _fetch_  him, I will not hesitate for a second.”

Sirius crossed the room in two steps and grabbed Malfoy by his collar.  “Listen to me you little shit, you know  _nothing_  about this world.”

“Oh but I thought you didn’t believe us?” Malfoy said mockingly.

Sirius dropped Malfoy and turned away from him in a rage, cursing loudly. “What are we going to do!?”

“I know what you’re not going to do,” Malfoy drawled, looking unbearably smug.

“Stop talking,” Sirius bit out. “I swear to Merlin I’m going to—“

But they never found out exactly what Sirius was going to do.  The room stilled as a silver evanescent phoenix flew into the room from the hallway. Lovegood let out a faint, “Oh,” as the phoenix opened his beak and Dumbledore’s voice filled the room.

_“Emergency meeting in one hour. Please spread the word to those who cannot currently receive a patronus. Emergency meeting in one hour.”_

Then the phoenix faded into nothing, leaving the room in silence.


	12. Gripping Tales

Back in the library, the reunion between Hermione and Ron was going as expected.  There were looks of amazement and disbelief.  There were tears and rambled questions. Then Hermione flung herself at Ron and the pair tumbled to the ground.

“Careful,” Harry quipped. Then he decided against explaining Ron’s unsteady state because it was clear neither Hermione nor Ron were listening.  They were too busy muttering apologies and doing things Harry didn't care to see.  So instead, he took a seat across from Zabini. It was difficult to tell whether Zabini was more annoyed or relieved by their return, though Harry suspected any relief had more to do with a crying Hermione and no longer being stuck alone with her.

“What—how?” Hermione was saying as she untangled herself from Ron. “Oh my god—are you alright?”

Ron grimaced as he sat up.  “I’m fine—more than fine.” He let out a little laugh and twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers. “Your hair…”

“Like it?” Zabini said. “You should have seen it this morning before she started messing with it.” Unlike Harry, Zabini and Hermione’s features were still transfigured, but Hermione’s hair had begun to frizz.

“Never mind all that,” Hermione said, grabbing a hold of Ron’s hand. “What happened to you? Where were you? How is this—“

“Hey,” Ron said, reaching up and wiping a stray tear off her check with his thumb.  “I’m okay—really. Harry came and got me and now I’m fine, but what’s wrong with you? Why are you crying? We heard you…”

“You heard me?”

“The Deluminator—you brought us here.”

Hermione gasped. “Both of you?” She said, looking up towards Harry. He gave her a small smile and a nod. 

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Now what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head and wiping her tears. “I was just worried about you. That’s all.”

Harry looked towards Zabini who minutely shook his head at him.  Then Zabini shut whatever book was in front of him and pushed it away.  Harry was certain they had just discovered Hermione’s death in this world, but he didn’t want to push the matter right now. Zabini was looking exceedingly uncomfortable and Hermione was locked in another embrace with Ron. Then Harry realized what was missing.

“Hey—where’s Luna?”

“She volunteered to get us some provisions," Zabini answered, "since  _someone_  decided to take off with our food supply.”

“Oh,” was Harry's guilty reply. He had forgotten he had the group’s food supply in his moleskin pouch—not that it was much, but it would have been enough to sustain them for the day. “So uh, you three must have been busy then,” he added, trying for nonchalant. “Did you happen across anything interesting?”

Zabini’s brows flew up and he let out a small noise of disbelief.

“You’re joking, right?” Hermione said, pulling away from Ron and fixing Harry with a fierce look. “You did not just ask that after the little stunt you just pulled!”

Harry smiled sheepishly, cursing his luck.  He had been hoping Hermione would be so happy to see Ron that he’d be off the hook for running off.  “Look, I’m sorry,” he said hastily, “but I couldn’t just sit here.”

“You couldn’t just  _sit_  here?” Hermione repeated as she stood. “Is that what you think we’ve been doing?”

“No, it’s just that—“

“Do you have any idea how worried I was about you!?” she hissed.

Hermione was standing over him now with her hands on her hips.  Harry looked around for support, but all he got was a sympathetic look from Ron.

“Yes?” he tried.

“You are unbelievable!” Hermione said vehemently. “You run off without telling anyone!”

“Oi!—Luna knew I was leaving!”

“Told you to leave is more like it.”

“And I wouldn’t have left if you had no way to contact me,” Harry argued, ignoring Hermione’s accurate assumption.

“Oh yes, the  _coins_. How could I forget?—Oh maybe because I don’t have one!”

“Look—I’m _sorry_ —“

“And then, if you running off while we’re lost in  _another world_  weren’t bad enough, you send us that cryptic little message—I cannot believe you! What if you were caught? What did you even do with it?”

Harry sighed wearily; half wishing there weren't privacy wards around them. Hermione was not going to like his answer. “I left it there.”

“You left it there?” she said, her voice climbing an octave. “You broke into Hogwarts and you just left it there!?”

“You broke into Hogwarts?” Ron asked, still sitting on the ground.

“Yeah—look,” Harry said, getting flustered. “I was careful, I wasn’t caught—and I had to know, okay? I had to know for sure if he was still alive and now I do. Besides, if I hadn’t gone to Hogwarts I would’ve never heard Dumbledore talking to McGonagall about Ron back at Grimmauld Place.”

Hermione’s familiar brown eyes widened and they flicked to Ron uncertainly.

“Let me get this straight, Potter,” Zabini said. “You broke into Hogwarts, found a Horcrux—which Granger was kind of enough to explain to me—left it there, and then—judging by Weasley’s current presence—proceeded to break into Order Headquarters when we explicitly told you not to do so.”

“Uh,” Harry started, running a hand through his hair, “to put it succinctly—yeah.”

Ron snorted, but Hermione was not amused. She grabbed a roll of parchment off the table and whacked the back of Harry’s head with it. “I. Cannot. Believe you!” She punctuated each word with another blow.

“Ow—Hermione,” Harry said, holding up his arms defensively. “I had to—I didn’t have time to tell you because Dumbledore knows! I had to get Ron out of there!”

Hermione eyed him shrewdly, her hand stilling in mid-air. “Dumbledore knows what?” 

“That we’re from another world,” Ron said darkly. “And he was talking to Harry like it was his job to save this one.”

“What?” Hermione breathed out, her arm falling back down to her side. “You  _talked_  to Dumbledore?”

Harry exhaled, blowing the fringe off his forehead.  He had no desire to discuss this right then.  The panic he had been feeling with Dumbledore still felt raw, but he knew Hermione wasn’t going to let this drop—or Zabini for that matter. “Yeah, he showed up while I was getting Ron and…” He paused and looked at Hermione directly, “and I think he believes that phoenix story.”

Zabini cursed as Hermione gaped. “He said that?” she said.

“No—not exactly like that…but he might as well have—“

“Harry,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “That story is not  _real_. You must have given him some sort of indication—“

“That’s right,” Harry retorted. “I waltzed in there and said—hey, I was the Chosen One in my world, would you like me to yours as well?”

“You know what I mean, Harry!”

“Granger, “Zabini said, cutting in before Harry could say anything else. “It wouldn’t be difficult for Dumbledore to come this conclusion. Phoenixes are the only known means of dimensional travel. Something I’ve already told you.”

“Says who?” Hermione immediately scoffed. “The Quibbler?”

“Say what you wish,” Zabini said coolly, "but you have yet to name a superior crossword.”

Hermione huffed while Harry and Ron exchanged a bemused look. Had this been the reason Zabini had figured it out so quickly?—He read the Quibbler…for the crossword?

“Well,” Hermione prompted in the meanwhile. “What else did Dumbledore say?”

“Uh—not much,” Harry said. “He tried to convince us to stay—went on about how dangerous it was and I told him we just wanted to leave. Then your voice came through the Deluminator and now we’re here.”

Hermione worried her lip and looked down at the newspapers, books, and notes scattered across the table—all of her hard work, no doubt. “I suppose it could have been worse.”

Ron snorted. “Hermione, you know how Harry sugarcoats things.”

“Oi!"

Hermione groaned pitifully. “What if we need the Order, Harry? Don’t get me wrong, I’m happier than anyone Ron is back, but this is exactly why I didn’t want you to go there!”

“I had no choice!" Harry said, now truly annoyed. "I wasn't going to leave Ron knowing he was there. And besides, his nerves are shot—he  _needed_  to be rescued.”

Ron wrinkled his nose at him. “I fine."

“What’s wrong with your nerves?” Hermione asked, turning her attention on to Ron. “You said nothing was wrong!”

“Nothing’s wrong—I’m fine!”

Harry smirked as Hermione fussed over Ron. He should have thought of this sooner. “It took four Reviving Spells to get him to wake and he can’t even walk."

Ron glared at him over Hermione’s shoulder when she craned back around to look at Harry. “I’m _fine_ ,” he repeated.

“You can’t even stand can you?” Harry said glibly.

Ron scowled. “I just prefer to sit."

“Oh god—Ron, why didn’t you say anything?” Hermione said. “What did they do to you?—And don’t you dare lie to me,” she added when he shook his head at her.

“Fine,” Ron said. “They hit me with three or four stunners and I had some sort of reaction to Veritaserum." He shrugged. "That’s all I can remember.”

“Salazar,” Zabini said, “they gave you Veritaserum?”

“Yeah, mind you I was confused as hell so I don’t think I gave them too much information before, uh…whatever happened. It's all a bit fuzzy to be honest.”

Hermione's eyes grew in horror. “They didn't give you a nerve soothing potion?”

“They didn’t, but—“

“Ron, you could have permanent damage,” Hermione said, panic edging into her voice. "We have to get you a potion.”

“What does he need exactly?” Harry said, suddenly worried. He hadn’t realized the damage could be permanent. “I can go get it—“

“Absolutely not,” Zabini said, standing from his seat. “You’re not going anywhere, Potter. You’ve lost that privilege.” Hermione nodded as to emphasize his point. “ _I’ll_  get the potion for Weasley. Granger, how about you get these two caught up on the happenings of this world while I’m gone.  We can discuss Potter’s adventures more at length when I get back.” 

Zabini, Harry noted, looked more than happy to have an excuse to leave.  Hermione accepted Zabini’s suggestions without any arguments and began to help Ron stand.  She led him to the chair Zabini had just vacated and retook her seat next to him. 

Ron gave Harry a half-hearted glare before taking in the litter of the table with a sigh. “This is really happening, isn’t it?” He flipped through a stack of parchment covered in Hermione’s neat scrawl. “Bloody hell—how long have you been working on these?”

“Four hours,” Hermione said, giving Harry an incisive look. “We put detection charms on everything we went through to help us find names we thought could be important and Zabini taught me a helpful dictation charm.” She then pulled the stack from Ron's hand causing him to look at her.

“Ron,” she said, her voice softening, “what happened to you exactly? How did you end up at Grimmauld Place?”

Ron's face immediately fell. “I don’t know," he said, slouching down into his chair. "I appeared back at mum and dad’s and when I went inside I found the twins…you know,  _both_  of the twins.” He was staring fixedly at the book in front of him, his expression pained. “I kind of flipped, you know? I didn’t even think—I just…flipped. Then the next thing I knew I was tied up in some room and Dumbledore was standing over me and…” He swallowed and looked up. “I’m just glad I know what’s going on now.”

Hermione grabbed Ron’s head and kissed his cheek as Harry nodded in understanding.  It seemed that Ron didn’t want to talk about whatever happened just yet and they had plenty of other things to cover in the meantime. 

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Hermione said, pulling away from Ron. “Now we just need to find Malfoy and we’ll have everyone back together.”

“Malfoy?” Ron said, pulling a face.

“Yeah,” Harry said then he quickly brought Ron up to speed on how Harry, Hermione, Luna, and Zabini had been reunited before explaining, “When we couldn’t find you or Malfoy, Hermione reckoned we should learn a little bit about this world in case we needed to go to the Order for help.”

“Which you managed to botch up royally,” Hermione said.

Harry shrugged. He wasn’t going to apologize for rescuing Ron. It needed to be done.  “So what did you end up finding out? Any hints on why Voldemort up and left?”

Hermione’s brows lifted in surprise. “We’re back to using his name now, are we?”

Harry shrugged again. “Dumbledore said it.”

“Wait,” Ron said. “You-Know-Who disappeared? I thought…” Then he trailed off, catching sight of Harry shaking his head.

“It’s like back home, but here he disappeared sometime in April of 1980.” Ron’s eye widened. “I know,” Harry confirmed, sensing Ron’s thoughts. “But if we’re lucky Hermione figured out why and can tell us when this world started to differ from our own.” He gave Hermione a wide hopeful grin, but knew immediately from her expression he wouldn't be getting what he wanted.

"I can’t actually," she said. "At least, not when it comes to the reason Voldemort disappeared, but I do think it’s safe to assume that our worlds began to differ after this sudden disappearance of his…” Then before Harry could argue, Hermione launched into her findings.  She mentioned giants and Inferi and a handful of attacks that Voldemort had been responsible for that had occurred in 1979 in both worlds.

Harry had never heard of any of it.

But there were plenty of other things she mentioned that were familiar to him—Evan and Wilkes, two Death Eaters, being killed by Moody, Igor Karkaroff‘s arrest, and most notably, the disappearance of Regulus Black. The last had occurred in mid-1979, just as it happened back home.

“The first war was just as brutal here,” Hermione continued, reorganizing the stack of parchment she had just rummaged through. “I was hoping that maybe things eased off before Voldemort disappeared, but they didn’t.  In fact, the most devastating Inferi attack of this century also happened in this world.  Perhaps you two remember it? Snape covered it sixth year.  The attack happened over in Kent in March of 1980.”

Harry didn’t, but he dutifully nodded anyway.

“I don’t know for sure when some of these events happened back home, but this world doesn't seem different from ours before April of 1980. The likelihood of this happening  _after_  the divergence point is incredibly improbable. I mean, we found the eighties vastly different here. So I’m thinking something must have happened in April 1980 to make You-Know-Who want to disappear quickly.”

“Or he was killed,” Harry offered. “There’s always that chance. Even with the Horcruxes, he still needed to be reborn.”

Hermione hummed. “It’s a possibility.  It’s also possible that noticeable changes didn’t occur until after he suddenly disappeared, but I think for our purposes we can assume everything was the same before April 1980.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to think, but he was at least comforted by the knowledge that the diadem was tucked away at Hogwarts. He might not know the exact reason Voldemort disappeared, but he at least had tangible evidence of Voldemort’s continued existence. 

“Alright,” Ron said, “but what about now? Dumbledore made it sound like this world was on the brink of destruction.”

“Did he now?” Hermione said, intrigued. 

"Pretty much," Harry confirmed. "Does that line up with what you found?"

"The truth is," Hermione said, sobering. "I don't know—not that it would have mattered anyway, but we only made it to what would have been our fourth year…”

Hermione trailed off.  She seemed reluctant to continue and Harry really couldn't blame her—not if his suspicions were correct.  Ron caught on to her hesitancy.

“Did something happen? Is that why you were crying?”

Hermione blew out forceful breath and gave them a wavering smile.  “It’s silly really. It’s not even really me…but…”

“But what?” Ron urged when she didn’t go on. “What happened?”

The vision of a younger Hermione, pearly and translucent, was still imprinted clearly in Harry’s mind. When Hermione still seemed reluctant to go on, he decided to take pity on her. “I already know,” he said quietly. “Your counterpart, Hermione—I saw her when I was at Hogwarts.”

Hermione searched his face in confusion before letting out a loud gasp. “I’m a ghost?”

Harry nodded once and Hermione's mouth fell open.

“Wait,” Ron said, “you  _died_?”

“Yes,” Hermione breathed out. “I was found outside the library at the beginning of our fourth year. They don’t know what happened, but I can’t believe I’m a ghost!”

Harry smiled ruefully. “I ran through you as I turned a corner. You didn’t see me because I was under my Cloak, but you looked alright…besides being—you know…”

Hermione stared.

“Blimey,” Ron muttered.

“I was the only Muggleborn at Hogwarts at the time,” Hermione explained, after a moment.  “They had been trying to ban Muggleborns from Hogwarts for years, but they never managed to get the ban passed. Granted, it might as well have been with that ridiculous test they made us take, but unfortunately for them,” she gritted out. “I passed their little test.”

Harry caught Ron’s eye, he looked just as confused as Harry felt. Hermione had gone from somber to irate in a matter of seconds. “What test?” they said in unison.

“It was…” Hermione started, but then she stopped, catching on to their confusion. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

“That'd be nice," Ron quipped.

Hermione sent him a look before sifting through her papers again. “Okay, so after Voldemort vanished here, things returned to normal and it stayed that way for years.  It wasn't until we reached 1986 that we found anything suspicious—four prominent Wizengamot members died from Spattergroit that year within weeks of each other.  Spattergroit is really contagious and the elderly are really susceptible to it, but all four of these members were out spoken supporters for Muggleborns and Muggles.”

Harry leaned back into his chair.  He could understand Hermione’s concern. 

“Who were they?” Ron asked.

“Tiberius Ogden, Griselda Marchbanks, Elphias Doge, and a witch I’m not very familiar with—Deirdre Plunkett.”

Ron let out a low whistle and Hermione nodded solemnly. 

“And who replaced them?” Harry asked, though he was pretty sure he didn't even want to know. 

“It could have been worse,” Hermione said.  “Neville’s dad—Frank Longbottom took one of the seats. But the remaining three is what made me suspicious of the whole thing—Elias Selwyn was one and according to Zabini, he’s related to Umbridge—“

“Bloody hell,” Ron groaned.

“And the other two were Rabastan Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy,” Hermione finished.

“Brilliant,” Harry muttered bitterly.

Hermione’s lips twitched. “The laws, unsurprisingly, began to change. Nothing too drastic at first, but then some rubbish research came out of the Department of Mysteries and this is when we started seeing substantial differences.”

Ron sat up a little straighter. “But the Department of Mysteries never reveals their research to the public.”

“Apparently they do when they think it means the wizarding world is in danger,” Hermione said flatly. “This particular research  _proved_ Muggleborns had significantly weaker magical cores when compared to purebloods or even halfbloods.  Not only were they proved to be weaker, but also more volatile.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” Harry said. “How would anyone go for that?”

“It’s not that far of a stretch,” Hermione explained.  “Magical cores are something the Department has been researching for centuries and how Muggleborns develop theirs is still a mystery.  This particular study had been conducted over the span of a decade. And guess who the lead researcher on this project was.”

Harry racked his brains and it didn’t take long for an answer to come to him. “Rookwood.”

Hermione nodded.  “Exactly. He was never arrested in this world and this was his project.  After he presented it to the Wizengamot, they deemed Muggleborns unsafe to wizarding society unless they proved so otherwise.  A test known as the W.O.M.B.A.T. was created and all of age Muggleborns were required to take it in order to gain and maintain employment in the magical world. If they were unable to pass the test, not only was employment impossible, but their wand use was heavily restricted. And if that weren't bad enough, very few Muggleborns actually passed the test and this fueled the belief of their unworthiness.”

“So all of these Muggleborns were forced back into the Muggle world,” Harry ventured and Hermione nodded. “What about at Hogwarts though?  Surely Dumbledore didn't stand for any of this?”

“No, that took a bit longer,” Hermione said. “You see, while this research proved Muggleborns were weaker, the Ministry argued they were still giving Muggleborns a chance to prove themselves. Muggleborns were still able to attend schooling… they just had to pass the test upon graduation.  But in the first three years this test was required, not one graduating Muggleborn from Hogwarts passed.” Harry sighed as Hermione continued on. “I’m sure you see where this is going. The ministry felt this was enough reason to ban Muggleborns from Hogwarts—the first attempt was in 1990.”

“But it didn’t pass,” Ron said.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “nor did it the next year, but the year after that something happened that changed some minds.”

“What?” Ron said. “Don’t tell me the Basilisk was trying to off Muggleborns here as well.”

Hermione bit her lip. “That’s exactly what I think happened…”

“What?” Harry said, startled. “If Voldemort was still alive, why would he sacrifice one of his Horcruxes to open the Chamber?”

“I don’t know—but Harry, two students were attacked. I admit I don't know how because the Prophet never specified but I do know they were Muggleborns. Then there's Colin Creevey. He was mysteriously  _killed_. And Ginny," Hermione grimaced, “she committed suicide. She jumped from the astronomy tower after leaving a note admitting she was responsible for the attacks.”

Harry exchanged a horrified look with Ron.

“Ginny?” Ron said in disbelief. “That can’t be right.”

“Of course it’s not right,” Hermione said, “but that’s what people believe.”

Harry rubbed his face underneath his glasses, feeling drained. He had never officially gotten back together with Ginny after the war—too much had changed and it just hadn’t felt right.  Harry had things he wanted to do and Ginny had gone off to play for the Holyhead Harpies after graduating, but they were still close friends…

Suddenly, the other Ron’s behavior the day before made a little more sense.  Ron and Ginny had always been close, despite what they said.

“Poor mum,” Ron said miserably. “I can’t imagine her ever getting over Ginny dying like that.”

“I don’t know if she could get over any of her children dying,” Hermione added gently. “Look at her with Fred.”

Ron didn’t say anything.  He nodded fractionally and stared at the table in front of him.

“So what happened after that?” Harry said, wanting to get this over with. “You said you were the last Muggleborn left when you died and that can’t be too far off from this.”

“No, it isn’t,” Hermione said. “This all happened during our second year, but here’s the thing. The Prophet never made it sound like these attacks were specifically made against Muggleborns. Instead it was made to sound like the Muggleborns weren’t able to handle whatever was attacking them.” Harry opened is mouth to protest, but Hermione quickly continued on. “It’s convoluted logic at best—yes, but it was logic enough for those few wizards and witches that were holding out on the ban to change their minds. Some rubbish method was developed to screen future Muggleborns before they received their Hogwarts letter and current students were required to take a modified W.O.M.B.A.T. in order to continue schooling.  My counterpart was the only one to pass and nothing happened the next year.  People seemed convinced the problem had been solved and when I died the following year…well, I’m not completely sure to be honest, but I can only imagine people assumed this meant I was unworthy as well.” 

Harry frowned. The wizarding world always had some questionable logic, but this seemed worse than usual. Something wasn’t adding up. “How would anyone believe any of this? Ginny would have been a first year, people can’t honestly believe she’d be capable of this.”

“Harry, it all depends how the information is presented,” Hermione said. “You of all people know how the Prophet is..."

Harry scowled. Of course he knew. The irony that he was relying on the Prophet for information was not missed by him, but still…

“And it seems to be even worse here,” Hermione finished.

“How’d you reckon that?” Ron said.

“Remember when I first told you about the W.O.M.B.A.T.?”

"How bad do you think our memories are?”

“Yes—well, people weren’t very happy about it for obvious reasons,” she said, ignoring the look Ron was giving her. “Several nasty riots broke out over it.  In fact, they were so nasty a handful of people died and I couldn't help but notice most of them were Muggleborns who happened to pass the test.”

“They were being killed off,” Harry mused out loud.

“Looks suspicious, doesn't it? And that’s not all. One of them was Benjy Fenwick.”

“An Order member,” Harry said, realizing where this was going.

“Right,” Hermione said. “He was the first Order member to be killed since the war, but he wasn’t the last.” She began rummaging through her stack again and pulled out another piece of parchment. “Edgar Bones and his entire family were killed a couple of months after Fenwick.  Someone clearly attacked them, but they never found the culprit.  Then a couple of weeks later, Marlene McKinnon and her family were killed in a similar fashion.”

“So they were picking off Order members—Bones and McKinnon weren’t Muggleborns,” Ron said.

Hermione nodded.  “It certainly looks that way, but McKinnon’s death is troublesome for more than one reason.  She was the assistant editor at the Prophet and her replacement was Barty Crouch Junior.”

“You’re kidding,” Harry said.

“I wish I was,” Hermione said, “but Crouch Junior was never imprisoned here and from what I can tell, he began working at the Prophet in late 1980.  After he took over for McKinnon, the Prophet’s voice changed.”

“I bet,” Harry muttered.

“I don’t know how much we can rely on these papers after this point,” Hermione said. “There’s no telling what has been omitted or skewed.  Take Ginny’s situation, for example. They ended up blaming the attacks on accidental bursts of magic from her. There was no mention of the Chamber and maybe it really wasn’t opened. Maybe Ginny just saw the real culprit and they pitched her off the astronomy tower or I was killed by some—“

“Okay, okay, we get it,” Ron said. “It’s all rubbish and guesswork.”

“Right,” Hermione said. “There were, however, a couple more Order deaths that we found after this point that I think you two should know about.” She looked at them apologetically. “One was Hagrid—he was found by a couple of Muggles on a mountainside in France in 1988…” 

“Not Hagrid,” Ron groaned and Harry mentally agreed.  Hagrid had always been a constant presence since he had entered the wizarding world.  He couldn’t imagine his years at Hogwarts without him. But with everything else going on, he really wasn't surprised.

“And I think you should read this last one for yourself, Harry,” Hermione said, handing him a piece of parchment.  It was a copy of an article and his stomach flipped when he read the title.

_WIZARD KILLED, ONLY A TOE REMAINS_

“Really,” Harry deadpanned.

“Just wait,” Hermione said grimly. “It gets worse.”

_Last evening in Dorchester, Mr. Peter Pettigrew, 29, died after falling victim to a Blasting Spell. Only a toe of Pettigrew’s was found by Ministry Investigators. Eyewitnesses state Pettigrew was seen arguing with Mr. Severus Snape, 29, moments before the blast occurred. Snape is currently being held by Ministry Aurors for questioning. Two Muggles were also killed by the blast and neighboring Muggles have been informed the blast was caused by a ‘gas leak,’ a Muggle equivalent to a Blasting Spell._

Disgusted, Harry tossed the parchment at Ron. “What happened to him?” 

“He was convicted a week later,” Hermione said ruefully, “and sent to Azkaban.”

Harry scowled. His feelings on Snape were still a tangled mess—the man had been insufferable and had made his life miserable, but Harry hadn't forgotten he owed his life to the man.  And regardless of how he felt about Snape, Harry couldn’t believe Pettigrew had played the same dirty trick in this world as well.  The very thought made his blood boil, but it also made him wonder…

Why had Snape and Pettigrew been fighting? Had Pettigrew still been a spy in this world even though Voldemort had disappeared? Had Snape? Harry hadn’t even considered any of this…

But before he could think about it further, something—or rather, someone caught his eye.

“Zabini? Did you just run here?”

Zabini had just bolted out of the stacks before coming to an unsteady halt in front of their table. Sweat was glistening along his forehead and he was clutching a small bag. He nodded as he caught his breath, resting his free hand on his knee.

“Gee,” Ron said, bemused. “I never knew you cared.”

Zabini ignored Ron’s comment and turned to Harry. “Where’s Lovegood?” he said between pants.

Harry started then looked at Ron and Hermione in alarm. They had completely forgotten about Luna and judging by their faces, they felt just as guilty as he did. “She never came back,” Hermione admitted.

Zabini slammed the bag down in front of Ron and swore. “We have a problem. I just saw Mrs. Malfoy in Knockturn—“

“What were you doing in Knockturn?” Ron said, eyeing the bag with suspicion. 

“Was Malfoy with her?” Hermione said.

“No, he wasn’t,” Zabini snapped, answering Hermione but glaring at Ron. “She was talking to Draco’s crazy Aunt Bella—I’m sure you lot remember her.” Harry shared another look with Ron and Hermione. Yeah, they remembered her. “And from what I overheard, Mrs. Malfoy had just seen Draco kidnapped from Fortescue’s along with a girl with waist long blonde hair.”

“What?” Harry said, all thoughts of Bellatrix forgotten. If Malfoy had been at Fortescue’s then surely it was  _their_  Malfoy and not the one from this world. It couldn't be a coincidence. Malfoy must have been looking for them…Had Luna found him? And yet… “What do you mean kidnapped?”

“I wasn’t aware there was more than one definition of that word—what do you think I mean!? They were  _taken_  and unless your parents had another son before you, your counterpart is the one who took them.”

Harry stared at Zabini, not wanting to believe him because surely he had it all wrong. How would the other Harry even know about Malfoy?

But then Ron groaned and his ears turned pink, and Harry had his answer.  

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

"Harry?—Oi! Harry!”

Harry startled out of his thoughts as a pair of fingers snapped in front of his face. He looked over to find Neville and Cedric Diggory watching him expectantly. The three of them were sharing a sofa together, waiting for the Order meeting to begin.

“What?” 

Neville rolled his eyes at him. “You didn’t hear a word we just said, did you?” 

“Er…” Harry started. He honestly hadn't been paying attention. He  _couldn't_  pay attention. The last hour had been a complete blur. After Dumbledore's patronus had disappeared, he had helped Remus and Sirius set Lovegood and Malfoy up at his safe house. They had tried to interrogate the pair further, but that had ended up being a complete waste of time. Malfoy had been an uncooperative arsehole and Luna had just bloody smiled at every question asked. In the end, Remus had decided to wait until after the Order meeting before they did anything else with the two. Meanwhile, Harry's mum had gone over to Dorcas's place in hopes to convince her to keep her mouth shut about what she had seen at Fortescue's earlier...

Harry had no idea if his mum had been successful or not. She had been gone the entire hour and in addition to Harry's activities at his safe house, he had also checked in with Jude to make sure he was fine—he was—and had sent his father a message about the Order meeting since he couldn't receive patronuses in the Department of Mysteries.

And somewhere along the way Harry had also been hounded by Sirius about the whole patronus debacle Harry had completely forgotten about with everything else going on.  Sirius was a Ministry Obliviator and apparently his whole department was up in arms over the incident. In fact, he had left work early so he could find Harry to see what the Ministry had sent him that morning. The department was  _still_  finding Muggles needing to be Obliviated.

It was a testament to Harry's day that this was the least of his worries…

But it had also sparked his curiosity and now that he was able to sit, his mind was drifting—lost in a tangle of thoughts. When Harry’s mum had first mentioned the possibility that Malfoy, Lovegood, Ron Weasley, and this other Harry were from another world, he had been in shock, but he had also been relieved. He had finally had an answer that made some sort of sense…But now, Harry couldn’t help but wonder about a few things…

Like why his counterpart was hanging out with Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, and Luna Lovegood together in the first place. Or why his counterpart dressed so strangely...or why he was able to send a patronus that travelled several kilometers...or why he freaked out when he saw Remus and Sirius the day before...or why Malfoy addressed him as Scarhead...or why—

"Harry!"

Harry started guiltily again. Neville looked torn between wanting to be amused or annoyed with him. "Sorry," Harry said. "What were you saying?"

"We were asking if you had any idea what this meeting was about." Neville said, exchanging a look with Diggory. "Do you reckon Dumbledore has figured out what's going on?"

"Uh—maybe," Harry answered, shrugging. "I hope so."

And the thing was Harry really did hope so because if Dumbledore hadn't figured it out then Harry, Sirius, Remus, and Harry's mum were going to be in a predicament. They had hoped to discuss everything with Harry's father before the meeting because he at least had some clout as an Unspeakable to bring up dimensional travel to a room full of Order members, but so far his dad hadn't showed up...

And the time for discussions was long past gone anyway. The sitting room at Headquarters was packed with Order members and Dumbledore was walking into the room with Fawkes on his shoulder.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Dumbledore said when the room went quiet. "It appears there are a few of us missing, but if it's alright, we will go ahead and begin."

There was a murmuring of consent from several Order members. Moody crossed his arms and nodded. "This better be good, Albus," he said.

"I believe that it is." Then Dumbledore launched into a summary of the previous twenty four hours for those who either hadn't been at the meeting or had left early the night before. Harry only vaguely listened, he was impatiently waiting for Dumbledore to get to the reason he had called this meeting.  Though Harry  _was_  quite impressed with Dorcas—he didn't know what his mum had said to her, but Dorcas was certainly acting like she had never heard any of it before...

“Yesterday evening these two individuals were still shrouded in mystery, but this morning,” Dumbledore said, his words finally catching Harry’s interest, “an answer finally came to me…”

Dumbledore paused dramatically, ensuring everyone’s eyes were on him, and it turned out Harry had nothing to worry about.  Dumbledore had come up with the whole dimensional travel thing by himself. 

“Are you out of your damn mind, Albus?” Moody barked. After the silence that had followed Dumbledore’s proclamation, a chattering of disbelief filled the room. Moody’s voice floated above the rest. “Of all of the cockamamie things I’ve heard come out of your mouth over the years this one tips the cauldron.”

“You’re telling me,” Neville muttered to Harry.

“Please,” Dumbledore said, holding up his hand for silence. “I understand everyone’s concerns. I had a few of them myself this morning, but while this was only a theory of mine this morning, I now have no doubts.”

Not many people looked convinced.  Bill Weasley sighed wearily. “And why is that?”

"I came to Headquarters this afternoon in order to question Mr. Weasley further and came upon the most unexpected scene.  Mr. Weasley was not alone—he was accompanied by the same gentlemen Sirius and Remus encountered yesterday afternoon.”

Harry caught Remus’s eye as another pattering of murmurs erupted.  They had left Headquarters unguarded in order to hunt down Malfoy and now…

Bloody hell—now  _he_  was there.  The other Harry was there in that very building and Harry didn’t know how he felt about that. Was he going to have to meet him?—that night? He didn’t know if he was ready to do that.  It had been one thing when he was chasing down some bloke who just just been impersonating him, but now, knowing what he knew, Harry wasn’t so sure…

"How'd he get in?" Moody barked. "The only weak point we could detect was the kitchen and I thought Lupin was going to station himself down there today.”

Dumbledore glanced towards Remus who to his credit appeared calm. "That is a question for later, Alastor, because that is the least of our concerns at the moment." 

Moody grunted in disbelief, but before he could disagree outright, Harry's mum spoke.

"So he's here then—this boy who looks like Harry? He came back?"

There was something in his mum's voice that made Harry shift uncomfortably.  She sounded oddly hopeful and relieved. Dumbledore looked at her with a frown.  “I’m afraid he’s no longer here,” he said. “He and Mr. Weasley were…transported away.”

Well there went Harry's worries over meeting his counterpart. But he was confused by what Dumbledore was implying—transported away _how_?

“But how?” Bill asked, echoing Harry’s thoughts. “We secured the wards last night. No mode of transport in and out of Headquarters should be allowed except for the kitchen Floo.”

Dumbledore nodded and reached inside his robes. He pulled out a small silver object Harry recognized as his Deluminator. Harry had always found the object strange—why invent something that collects light when one could light up an area with the flick of a wand?—but it was well known by Order members that it was one of Dumbledore’s most cherished possessions. The man always seemed to have it in his pocket.

“The answer to your question, Bill, happens to be the same answer to why I know these gentlemen are from another world,” Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling as he held up the Deluminator. “They happened to be using an exact replica of this very object when I found them. And I know this is one of a kind.”

Moody scoffed. “Don’t tell me you don’t think someone could easily reproduce it—nearly everyone in this room has used it for Merlin’s sake.”

“Would you calm down, Moody,” Tonks said. “Some of us are trying to listen.”

Moody grumbled something intelligible as Dumbledore continued on.  “As you all know, this object is able to gather light from a given area with a simple click.  But this is not its only ability…I originally designed it as a means to guide myself to those I love when they were in need of me.  Whether it was a significant other, a dear friend, or a family member, they only needed to say my name and a blue light would appear, transporting me to this person’s side no matter what wards or obstacles surrounded either of us.” Dumbledore paused and looked at the Deluminator thoughtfully. “It has been a very long time since I have been called to anyone…”

Harry caught Neville’s eye as Dumbledore sighed and re-pocketed the small silver object. “When I found Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, they not only held an exact replica of my Deluminator, but a blue light was hovering in between them as well.” He looked directly at Moody. “It would be unwise of me to assume that no other could create an object that could gather and distribute light in a similar fashion, but given that these gentleman were using the object in a way I have told no one else before, I have no doubt in my mind that it was my own creation—only from another world.”

Moody held Dumbledore’s gaze steadily, disbelief was still etched across his face.

“You said the Deluminator is able to transport you no matter what,” Remus cut in curiously. “Does this mean they were pulled back to their world?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said and now he was smiling, “that is indeed how I thought they were trying to use it when I found them. You see, the blue light is not meant to linger.  I thought perhaps the Deluminator was able to communicate to these gentlemen that a loved one was calling to one of them, but was not strong enough to pull them back home.  I’m afraid the obstacles the Deluminator can overcome are limited to this world.”

“So they were called away by someone who is in this world,” Bill said, frowning.

“Precisely. But remember, mutual feelings of love are required for this to work. Not just anyone could have pulled these two away. It would have been someone they were both very close to and because of this, it is my belief that they are not the only two dimensional travelers who’ve landed themselves here.  In fact, I believe there are at least two others.”

Two others? Harry couldn’t help but look over at his mum, Remus, and Sirius. They were exchanging glances as well and Harry wondered if their thoughts were similar to his own—were Lovegood and Malfoy the other two dimensional travelers or were there more people they didn’t know about yet?

“How do you reckon more than one?” Neville’s dad asked.

“The voice of whoever is calling you will briefly come through the Deluminator before the light appears—a warning of sorts,” Dumbledore explained. “In the midst of my conversation with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, a young woman’s voice came from their Deluminator before they both disappeared. I was only able to hear her briefly, but she sounded very distraught and I believe she was talking to someone else—her words sounded like a reply.”

Harry frowned slightly. That didn’t sound like the Lovegood girl at all. He didn’t think she had it in her to be distraught… And now that he thought about it, Malfoy didn’t make sense either—he had been _looking_ for the other Harry when Harry found him.  Then Harry thought back to his conversation with Ron and how Ron had mentioned others back at Fortescue’s. Lovegood and Malfoy were obviously part of this group, but there was someone else Harry hadn’t figured out yet.  Someone Ron had mentioned more than once—Hermione…

Could this be her?

“So whoever these people are, there are more than two of them,” Moody said, his arms still crossed over his chest. “But what I’d like to know is what this conversation of yours entailed.”

“Yeah,” Sirius chimed in. “Did they know of their situation?”

“They did,” Dumbledore said.

“Or they were just telling you what you wanted to hear,” Moody inserted.

“I was unable to get much out of them before they left,” Dumbledore continued, unfazed, “but I did manage to learn a few key things.  First, that they come from a world where the modified memory charm for the Fidelius does not exist, meaning their world is different from at least 1990 onwards.”

Harry blinked. _1990_? Bloody hell, half of the bloke’s life was different from his own.

“Second,” Dumbledore said loudly, holding up his hand to stop questions, “that they are aware of the Order’s existence, but are not members. And lastly, and this is by far the most important, that they come from a world where Lord Voldemort no longer exists.”

There was a stunned silence and then Dorcas shattered it, letting out an incredulous, “ _What_?”

“Well this just got more interesting,” Neville muttered in Harry’s ear and Harry could only nod feebly back.  This other world was free from the grips of You-Know-Who...and yet, Malfoy had practically admitted to being a Death Eater—unless he  _was_  a Death Eater and now he wasn’t because Voldemort was gone? But why would Harry’s counterpart be hanging out with an ex-Death Eater? It still didn’t make any sense…

“Good for them,” Moody said, over the excited chatter. “But what’s that got to do with us? They break through our wards, claim they’re from a world with no dark lord, and then they disappear. What do you expect us to do? Go out looking for them?” 

Dumbledore frowned. “They don’t need us as enemies, Alastor.”

Moody laughed in disbelief. “Of course they don’t. But do you know what this sounds like to me, Albus? It sounds like some cocked-up plan to get us off focus. Of course they told you that Voldemort was gone in their world. It’s exactly what you wanted to hear! Throw in a fancy silver object and you’re hooked. They were feeding you some god-damned story so you would send us on some wild goose chase looking for these two and whoever is with them on some ridiculous hope of yours that they  _might_  be able to help us!”

Dumbledore’s frown deepened. He didn’t say anything.

Moody laughed harshly. “How did I guess? We have more important concerns, Albus.  We don’t have time for this.  We are barely holding on and the only reason we haven’t lost outright is because Voldemort is spreading into the mainland.  Our allies in Germany, France, and Spain are outnumbered just as we are and what are we doing?—wasting time discussing how the two bastards who broke through our security wards are from another world—something that, I need to remind you, is not possible.”

Fawkes trilled angrily at Moody, but before Moody or Dumbledore could speak again, a new voice joined the conversation.

“I’m afraid you’re wrong on that last point.”

Harry whirled around in his seat to find his dad standing in the doorway with a pronounced frown on his face.

“James,” Harry’s mum said, “when did you get here?”

“Just a minute ago,” he said, without looking at her.  His eyes were set on Dumbledore. “Dimensional travel is possible, Moody. I did some asking around today and sure enough the department has a couple of documented cases in its archives.”

“How convenient,” Moody grunted.

“Merlin,” Fabian said in awe. “That was really my nephew from another world?” Harry’s dad nodded. “But how?—how did they get here?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Harry’s dad said flatly, eyes still on Dumbledore.

“Ah, of course,” Gideon muttered. “Bloody Unspeakables.”

Harry’s father smiled grimly and Harry frowned. The doubt that had been hovering in the room seemed to be ebbing away with his dad’s confirmation.  Yet Harry didn’t understand why his dad looked seconds away from exploding or why he was looking at Dumbledore so accusingly.

“Regardless,” Dumbledore said, clearing his throat, “I appreciate your input, James. It seems to have cleared up some doubt and that is more than what I was hoping for…”

Moody made a disgruntled noise. “It still leaves us nowhere. They’re  _gone_. What do you expect us to do?”

Dumbledore didn’t say anything at first. He looked as if he were considering something. "I'm afraid there's not much we can do.  There is no way to locate them, but I do think it would be wise of us to watch out for them and to offer our help if needed. They are, after all, stuck in an unfamiliar world."

"Is that all?"

Dumbledore nodded. "The main purpose of this meeting was to inform you all of the situation at hand."

“Right,” Moody grunted. "Just don't forget about all of our _other_  situations, Albus.” He stood and made his way towards the door before turning back around. “That goes for all of you actually.  I'm not saying I believe any of this, but there’s nothing stopping these people from coming to us. They’re choosing to avoid us and I don't like it." Then he was gone, the sound of his footsteps quickly fading down the stairs.

A silence hung in the air after Moody's departure and the meeting ended not long afterwards. As Order members began filing out of the room, Harry couldn't help but think about what Moody had said. Why were the other Harry and Ron Weasley avoiding them now that they knew that were in another world? Harry knew that in their place, he would have been seeking safety…and familiarity…

Just what was this other world like?

"Hey," Neville said, nudging him. "You alright?" Cedric had already left and they were now sharing the sofa alone.

"Yeah," Harry said, bemused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Neville jerked his head over to Dumbledore who was discussing something with the three Weasley's and the Prewett twins. "Do you reckon he's right?"

"You heard what my dad said."

And that was another problem.  His dad had joined Sirius, Remus, and Harry's mum, but he was still sending Dumbledore disapproving looks. Harry wanted to know why.

"I know," Neville said. "It's just hard to picture you ever being mates with Weasley."

Harry thought of Lovegood and Malfoy back at his safe house and realized Neville didn't know the half of it. Then Lovegood’s serene words came back to him and he murmured them out loud, “Anything’s possible.”

"Uh, yeah. I suppose," Neville said, giving him an odd look. He then leaned forward, positioning himself to stand. "I'll see you Sunday?"

"Of course."

Sundays were when Harry met up with Neville and the girls—the girls being Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones.  Neville had been dating Hannah since their sixth year and while Harry had only been seeing Susan officially for a few months, sometimes he felt like he had been seeing her just as long.  They had always been around each other at Hogwarts due to their friend's relationship.

Neville left with his parents, leaving Harry alone on the sofa. He wished he could leave as well, but he knew the night was far from over.  So instead, he ambled over to where his parents were sitting.

"Hi kiddo," his dad greeted. His eyes just barely flickered to him before returning to Remus and Sirius who were approaching Dumbledore on the other side of the room. 

"Hey," Harry said, slumping down next to him. "What's going on?"

"I'll tell you in a minute."

Harry didn’t respond, knowing it would be pointless. He rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes, deciding that he might as well relax as he waited. He could hear his parents whispering something next to him, several pairs of footsteps, and the voices of the Weasley twins as they left…

“Sleeping on the job, are you?”

Harry tried not to wince. He had been hoping to avoid Dorcas. “Nah,” he said, peeking one eye open, “just clearing my mind.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes. Then she leaned forward, tickling his ear with her breath. “My mouth stays shut ‘til Monday. Figure it out.” Then she was gone, barely giving him time to process her words. He turned to his mum the moment he did, demanding an explanation with his eyes.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said, under her breath. “It was the best I could do!” She leaned back into the sofa and glared across the room. “Bloody Sirius.”

“I can’t wait to hear what he’s done now,” Harry’s dad said, glancing at them curiously.

But nothing more was said on the matter because Dumbledore was making his way across the room.  Everyone had left, leaving the Headmaster alone with Harry, his parents, Sirius, and Remus.

“Thank you again for coming,” Dumbledore said as he approached. “This had been a stressful situation and I cannot imagine how you must be feeling now that we finally know the truth.” His eyes seemed to linger on Harry and Harry's dad finally snapped.

“And I can’t imagine why you found it necessary to bring  _Fawkes_  to an Order meeting.”

Harry stared at his dad, finding his words odd. But now that Harry thought about it, Fawkes  _never_  came to Order meetings.

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, sighing. “I assume this means my theory is correct?”

His dad’s eyes narrowed, ignoring the four confused looks he was receiving. “You can’t make them do anything, Albus.”

“Of course not,” was Dumbledore’s quiet reply. “But these things have a tendency of working themselves out on their own, do they not?”

Harry’s dad didn’t say anything.

Dumbledore’s expression was grim.  He nodded at them all in farewell and swept from the room.  The sound of his footsteps had just barely faded away when Harry’s dad shot a spell at the doorway and let out an enraged cry.

“I cannot believe this!”

“James…”

“We have got to find them,” Harry’s dad said passionately.  He stood and began pacing around the room. “I can only imagine what Albus said to them!”

“Whoa—Prongs,” Sirius said. “Calm down. What were you and Albus even talking about?”

“Fawkes! None of you found it strange he was here? I mean, it is just so  _obvious_.”

Harry looked around to everyone else.  He was failing to see what was so obvious about Fawkes.  Sirius, however, had not. His jaw had dropped.

“No  _way_ ,” he said.

Harry's dad ran a hand through his hair and nodded. Then he began to explain. He may have not been able to tell them any specifics due to his vow to the Department of Mysteries, but he  _could_  tell them about a popular children's story and it didn't take long to put the pieces together.  The implications were completely overwhelming.

"But James," Harry's mum said desperately. "They're just kids! Dumbledore can't honestly think that!"

And though Harry was annoyed at basically being called a kid, he couldn't help but agree. How was it possible that this other Harry and Ron—and bloody hell, even Malfoy and Lovegood—were brought here to defeat Voldemort when Harry was hardly allowed to do more than sit in on Order meetings?

Harry’s dad didn’t deny it and the room filled with a tense unease.  His eyes flicked towards Harry before he raked a hand through his hair again. “Why do you think I want to find them, Lils? We  _have_  to find them.”

“But why didn’t Dumbledore tell the Order any of this?” Remus said, frowning.

“I don’t know—because he knows how crazy it sounds? Because he’s being secretive as usual? Because he doesn’t’ want to deliver false hope? Pick one or all of the above!” He blew out a forceful breath, deflating a bit. “I think he wanted to tell us, but… I have this feeling his meeting with Harry and Ron didn’t go well and he didn’t want us approaching them in the same way.  I don’t know. What matters is we need to find them.” He started pacing around the room again, pulling at his hair. “The question is where to look. They're probably in a place they know in their world—somewhere they feel safe. We can check the other estates or—“

“ _James_ ,” Harry’s mum said and he stopped. She shared a significant look with Sirius and Remus. “We might already know a way how…” Then she was telling him what was back at Harry’s safe house.  Harry, Remus, and Sirius all chimed in at points, helping to fill in the blanks.  They told him about the strange letter, Dorcas, Fortescue’s, and how they couldn’t tell Dumbledore any of it because Malfoy had threatened them with revealing their biggest secret—the fact that they were unregistered animagi.

His dad’s expression had ranged from relief to shock before finally settling on anger.  Then he was storming out of the room.

“James!” Harry’s mum cried out. “Where are you going?”

“Where do you think I’m going!?” he yelled back and by the sound of it, he was already half way down the stairs.

Harry’s mum was the first to react.  She bolted off the sofa and took off after him with Remus not far behind.  Sirius didn’t move to make after them though, instead he looked at Harry.

“This isn't going to be good.”

“Nope,” Harry said, standing. “You think if I Apparate us, we’ll beat them there?”

Sirius grinned. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

They made their way down to the front stoop. Then Harry grabbed his godfather’s arm and brought them to his safe house.  Harry wanted to get there first for one simple reason. His dad was angry—really angry—and anger wasn’t going to get them anywhere with Malfoy. Or Lovegood, Harry added as an after thought. They needed these two and Harry wanted to soften the blow somehow. 

He was relieved to find the house silent when he opened the front door.  Sirius and he immediately proceeded down the hall towards the back bedroom where they were keeping Malfoy and Lovegood. They found them how they left them.  Lovegood was sitting cross-legged on the ground, reading a book Remus had given her. Malfoy was lying on the single bed, staring at the ceiling with his hands tucked underneath his head.  They both looked up when the door opened. 

“Oh goodie,” Malfoy drawled. “Scarless and the mutt have returned.”

Sirius bristled beside Harry.  Malfoy had taken up calling Sirius ‘the mutt’ when they tried interrogating them before the Order meeting.  Scarless, however, was something new. Harry decided to ignore it.

“Tell me,” Malfoy continued. “How did your little meeting with Dumbledore go?”

“Listen,” Harry said, “my dad’s on his way and he’s  _really_  angry.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and went back to staring at the ceiling.

“You don’t get it,” Harry continued, annoyed. He could not fathom how his counterpart put up this. “We figured a few things out about your world—we know You-Know-Who is gone and—“

“And what?” Malfoy challenged, his eyes flashing. “You just want me to cooperate and give you all the answers? It doesn’t _work_ that way and if you really think a little righteous anger is going to be enough to make me speak than you’re even more pathetic than I thought.  So your father’s angry—big deal. I’ve endured worse.”

A shiver went up Harry’s spine.  Malfoy’s eyes were like steel and Harry could suddenly see himself through them. Merlin, he really _was_ pathetic. So pathetic that he was threatening Malfoy with his father. So pathetic that he couldn’t even get answers on his own…  

Harry knew if the tables were turned—if he were stuck in another world—that he would have sought out his parents, Sirius, Remus, the Order— _anyone_ for help.  But this other Harry wasn’t doing that. If anything, he was running away from them. He was on his _own_ …

And Harry could hardly even imagine what that felt like.

“But thanks anyway,” Malfoy added coolly, “for the warning.”

Then as if it were on cue, Harry heard the fireplace in the sitting room roar to life.  Sirius immediately went back out into the hallway and given what Harry heard next, he could only assume Sirius was trying to block his dad.

“Oh sodding hell—get out of my way, Sirius.”

“James, you want to think about this—“

“That’s a bit rich coming from you.”

Then Harry’s dad was rushing into the room—passed Harry—barely glimpsing down at Lovegood before making his way over to the bed where Malfoy was still lounging on his back.

“Where is he?” he demanded harshly.

Malfoy looked up at Harry’s father, his expression bored. “Where is who?”

“Don’t play games with me you little shit. My _son_ —where is he?”

“I believe he’s right behind you.”

Harry’s father growled and he pointed his wand at Malfoy’s chest. “You want to try that again?”

Malfoy propped himself up on his elbows, pushing the wand into his chest defiantly. “Do you really think I’d be _here_ if I knew? Or did _your son_ forget to mention how he found me?”

“Oh I heard all about it, alright, right down to how you decided to threaten my family!” He jabbed his wand further into Malfoy’s chest.

Malfoy opened his mouth looking momentarily surprised, but then Harry wondered if he had only imagined it because a blink later, Malfoy was smirking. “That’s right,” he said, “and if I may, I’d suggest pointing your wand elsewhere. As it is now, the temptation to let something _slip_ is positively overwhelming.”

Harry’s father growled again. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t hex you into a bug and stomp you beneath my foot.”

“Well _that’s_ easy,” Malfoy drawled, plopping down off his elbows.  He positioned his hands underneath his head again. “Potter would never forgive you seeing as we’re _mates_ and all.  And you don’t want that, now do you?”

Malfoy’s smirk was so ugly it was difficult to stomach.  Harry’s dad seemed to think so as well because he turned away from Malfoy in a rage, pulling at his hair as he distanced himself.

“I don’t know if I believe that actually,” Harry said, willing to say just about anything to wipe the smug expression off of Malfoy’s face. “You being friends with me in your world. Ron Weasley didn’t seem to think much of you and I know for fact he’s friends with him.”

The smirk, Harry triumphantly noted, slipped. “Yeah, well that’s _Weasley_ ,” Malfoy said resentfully. “He hates me on principle alone.”

“Ron doesn’t hate you,” Lovegood said. Her lilting voice seemed out of place after the spat words and anger. “He just doesn’t know how to like you.”

Harry didn’t know what the hell that meant, but it seemed oddly reassuring to Malfoy. Harry pushed on, determined to get answers to help find his counterpart. “Ron also mentioned others—at Fortescue’s and I know something happened there.  That’s where you were when you were brought here, wasn’t it? Who else was with you?”

Harry had their attention now.  Both Lovegood and Malfoy’s eyes bore into him. “There’s no one else,” Malfoy said. “We _are_ the others.”

Harry smiled thinly. “I might have believed you if Ron hadn’t given me a name. Hermione—who is she?”

Both Lovegood and Malfoy blinked. Their identical expressions would have been comical if Harry had been in a better mood.

“Who’s _Hermione_?” Malfoy said stupidly.

“That’s right. She’s out there somewhere and I want to know who and where she is.”

Malfoy snorted in disbelief.  “Why? So you can go track her down and lock her up as well? I don’t think so. If _Hermione_ is fortunate enough to be a stranger to you then I sure as hell am not going to change that.”

Harry glared. Why couldn’t they just…cooperate! Couldn’t they see they were just trying to help? It was maddening and even more maddening was the fact he _knew_ he knew a Hermione.  The name was so familiar to him, dancing on the tip of his tongue, but staying out of reach…

Then Harry nearly jumped when he heard a loud gasp behind him. He didn’t know when his mum or Remus had joined the fray, but they were standing behind him, hovering in the doorway along with Sirius and his dad. His mum entered the room and approached him with knowing eyes. “She was your classmate, Harry—Hermione Granger.”

“Griping Granger?”

He had just blurted out the first thing that had come to his mind and, bloody hell, he was ashamed he hadn’t been the one to put it together.

His mum pursed her lips at him. Malfoy though had begun to snigger. “Griping Granger?” he said. “Oh this has almost been worth it just to hear those words come out of your mouth.”

Harry’s mum turned to Malfoy, her expression cool. “She’s dead, Mr. Malfoy.”

The sniggering stopped instantly. “Salazar,” Malfoy said, giving Harry a look, “even I find it distasteful to mock the dead.”

“Oh I’m sure,” Harry snapped. “She haunts the library for your information—makes it near impossible to do any sort of revising.”

“It’s still not very nice,” Lovegood said, frowning.

“No, it isn’t,” Harry’s mum agreed. “Merlin, Harry.”

“What?” Harry said defensively. It wasn’t like it was he who had come up with the name.  It had been that Ravenclaw with the bad skin who had always hung out with Ravenclaw’s fit Seeker, Cho Chang, and the name had just stuck—first among the Ravenclaws and then among the entire school.  And the name fit for a reason.  Granger was an annoying ghost—hell, she had been annoying in life. She had been a know-it-all Harry could hardly stand.  There was a reason his mind didn’t automatically jump to her when he heard the name Hermione. They hadn’t exactly been on friendly terms. “That’s what everyone calls her!”

“Regardless of what anyone calls her,” Remus said, “she is out there somewhere and we have reason to believe the other Harry is with her.”

Malfoy and Lovegood exchanged a look.

“And you’ve seen her, Miss Lovegood. You were somewhere else with her before you came to Fortescue’s this afternoon. You referenced another place—something about bruise remover when you and Malfoy got back—and you couldn’t have been talking about your world because you already knew you were in another one. Where were you going to bring Mr. Malfoy back to? We need to know so we can find Harry.”

But Harry wasn’t completely sure if Lovegood was still listening or not, she was smiling enigmatically now, just as she had when they questioned her before the Order meeting.

Remus let out an exasperated sigh.  “Please, Miss Lovegood,” he said. “We only want to help.”

“I’ll tell you how you can help,” Malfoy began, but then Sirius cut him off.

“You can stop that thought right there, kid. We’re not letting you go.”

Malfoy scowled and Harry realized they had just fallen back into the same routine they established before the Order meeting. Remus asked questions, Luna smiled, Malfoy made demands, and Sirius shut them down. The only difference now was Ron was no longer back at Headquarters and they were beginning to understand the magnitude of this group’s presence…

In other words, they were more desperate for answers.

“Then what’s your plan?” Malfoy demanded. “Hold us hostage and hope Potter comes to get us just like he did with Weasley?” He laughed at their startled expressions. “That’s right. We know all about that.”

“How…?” Harry’s dad managed.

“Harry told me,” Lovegood said simply.

“But then that must mean you have some way to communicate with him!” Harry’s mum said.

Lovegood smiled and hummed in agreement.

“Please,” Harry’s mum begged, desperately. “We just want to find him…now that we know what’s going on. This has been just as confusing for us. We just want to help!”

Malfoy had gone back to staring at the ceiling, but it wasn’t him Harry was interested in. Lovegood had stopped smiling and was looking at his mum in a way that made his stomach flip. Her expression held more sadness and understanding than Harry thought possible.

“You keep saying that,” she said, her calm voice floating through the room, “but Harry’s not the one who needs help.”

Then she looked away, shifting her gaze back to the book that was sitting in her lap, as Harry stared—as his mum’s breathing hitched—as the whole room went still because it was suddenly clear Dumbledore wasn’t the only one who believed this group was brought to this world to save it.

And if Lovegood believed it then what did the other Harry believe…?

The troubled silence was broken by a flurry of movement and Remus’s confused voice. “Lily?—Oi!”

She had opened Remus’s robes and was searching through his pockets. “Where are they?” she asked frantically.

“Wha—“

“Their wands, Remus. Where are they?”

“Lily,” Harry’s dad said, approaching her. “We can’t just—“

“We have no other choice, James! Mr. Malfoy is right. We can’t just keep them here!”

“Sure we can,” Sirius muttered.

“I’m not bribing Harry to come to us,” she snapped. Then she let out a deep shuddering breath, freeing herself of her anger, but not of her despair. “I want him to come to us because he wants to, not because he has to…”


	13. The Next Riddle (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heads up: This is only Canon Harry's portion of this chapter. The chapter was getting long and I needed to break the boys up. And also, I just needed to post something so I could get back into this thing. :)

“Let us get one thing straight, Potter. You running off and breaking into Headquarters on another rescue mission is not an option.”

Harry scowled, annoyed by Zabini’s presumption. His head was pounding. The last few minutes had been a whirlwind of confusion. He had endured a potions lecture from Zabini— _Polsue’s in Knockturn happens to sell the finest quality of potions and if you lot have a problem with it, you can get your own bloody potion_.  He had discovered Ron’s memory of the past twenty four hours was a lot worse than Ron had previously let on which meant Hermione was shoving said potion down Ron’s throat regardless of how any of them felt about it. And he had learned that despite Ron’s hazy memory, Ron could recall the other Harry showing him a letter that was addressed to Scarhead.

The other Harry was receiving Harry’s mail…which made Harry feel oddly invisible so he tried not to think about it.

Then there was Luna’s coin.  He had checked it the moment he remembered it and found a message stamped along its periphery.  A message he must have missed when he had been rescuing Ron from Headquarters:  _I found Draco. He’s at Fortescue’s with Harry. I’m going to go say hi_.

Any doubt—hope—that Luna hadn’t been the one kidnapped with Malfoy had immediately vanished.

Harry had thought he had avoided the Order, Dumbledore, his parents…

But it had turned out his counterpart had been undermining him, unknowingly or not, all along.  He had fooled Ron into talking to him.  He had fooled Malfoy long enough to capture him and had somehow managed to snatch Luna away as well. And though Harry was thoroughly annoyed by it all, he couldn’t help but be begrudgingly impressed.

Harry hadn’t avoided anything.  He had only been fooling himself.

“Zabini’s right,” Hermione chimed in. “We really need to think about this, especially now with Dumbledore believing that story.”

“Yeah,” Ron added, “You’re lucky, mate, but you’re not that lucky.”

Harry’s scowl deepened.  Ron had confirmed the group’s suspicions that Harry’s counterpart was an Order member and it hadn’t taken long for the group to jump to certain conclusions, mainly that Luna and Malfoy were now being held by the Order, and apparently that Harry intended on running off to save them.

Unfortunately, Harry already knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.

“Calm down,” he said. “I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone.”

“Really?” Hermione said. She shared a doubtful look with the other two that did little for Harry’s mood.

“Yes, really.” He then told them about his invisible encounter with Sirius and his belief that Luna and Malfoy had been taken to his counterpart’s supposed safe house. “And seeing as I have no ruddy clue where this supposed safe house could be, a rescue mission isn’t exactly an option.”

The doubtful expressions were replaced by relief and Harry felt like hexing something.

“Of course,” Hermione said. “That makes sense. The other Harry wouldn’t be secret keeper for Headquarters…”

“Yeah,” Harry grumbled.

“But wait a second,” she added with a frown. “I completely forgot about that. Ron—they told you the location of Headquarters not knowing who you were. Why would they do such a thing?”

“There’s some modified memory charm for the Fidelius in this world,” Harry explained. “I’m reckoning that isn’t a concern of theirs.”

“And I wasn’t exactly conscious when they brought me through,” Ron muttered, but Hermione obviously hadn’t heard this bit. Her eyes had grown wide with excitement.

“A modified memory charm?” she said. “Merlin. There are different spells in this world—Of course there are with WIRA still around! I wonder if there’s a book in here we could find…” She looked out hopefully towards the stacks.

“Hermione,” Harry groaned, sharing a look with Ron. “Luna and Malfoy— _Luna and Malfoy_  are with my bloody double! Could we not focus on spells right now?”

Hermione blushed and turned back towards the group. “I know Harry…but you’re right. You don’t know where your counterpart’s safe house is…”

“So that means we can just go looking up spells, does it?”

“No,” she said patiently, “what it means is we’re definitely going to have to approach the Order. And since that's the case, I think it’d be best to move forward with our original plan. Fortunately, we’ve already done most of the work.”

Harry stared at her. He did not like that idea at all.

“Oh come off it, Potter,” Zabini said. “You said it yourself. There are no heroics you can pull and if you think this is a mess right now, it’s going to be an even bigger one if you rush in there and start making demands. Dumbledore knows who you are—knows you can enter Order Headquarters on a mere whim—and you flat out refused to help the man.”

“I’m well aware,” Harry said flatly.

“Draco and Lovegood are bargaining chips,” Zabini continued undeterred. “They are going to be guarded—kept in a place you can’t get to—“

“I. Know.”

“Then stop pretending you have a problem with this.” Zabini gestured towards the stacks of parchment and newspapers. “We only have a few more years to go through and between the four of us we can easily finish within the hour. Then we can come up with a plan.”

Harry scowled again. He didn’t need it spelled out for him—he was, in fact, painfully aware of what was going on: He was being lured back to the Order by essentially what could have been  _himself_.

And it wasn’t just his counterpart. It was also Sirius and Lupin and probably Harry’s parents as well and that stung more than Harry cared to admit because he wanted to think better of them.

He wanted to think they had just taken Malfoy and Luna to figure out what was going on—that they hadn’t understood Harry was from another world—but it had been well over an hour since Harry had seen Sirius run off to his counterpart’s safe house and Harry just couldn’t suspend that belief.  There was no way they didn’t know what was going on now—between Luna and Dumbledore and everything else—there was just no way…and yet, Luna and Malfoy were still being held captive, unwillingly and without their wands—Luna’s lack of communication since Fortescue’s was proof of that…

This was more than curiosity.

And as much as it pained him, it terrified him more than anything else.

Luna and Malfoy held answers for the Order. Hell, Malfoy had a bloody Dark Mark still etched upon his arm—what would the Order make of him? And what would Malfoy say in order to save his own skin?

Harry didn’t want to find out, and he certainly couldn’t sit there and look though old newspapers. As far he was concerned, he already knew enough about this world. He was ready to plan now. The sooner he was able to get to the Order and take the focus off the other two the better.

“What is the point,” Harry said, “of getting more information? The information was to help us muddle our way with the Order without seeming like we were important—so we wouldn’t be used—but like you said, Hermione, I royally botched that up.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, “the more we know about this world and the less they know about ours the better. We still have the upper hand—“

“Do we? All they have to do is use Veritaserum and they’ll know anything they want about our world!”

Hermione chewed her lip and exchanged a small look with the other two. “If the Order is going to do that, they’re going to do it regardless of what we do—they’ve already had them for an hour now and at least Luna and Malfoy don’t know everything…”

“Granger’s right,” Zabini added. “All of your secrecy, Potter, is finally paying off.”

“My secrecy?” Harry said with an incredulous edge to his voice. “You think I care about my secrets?” He laughed, frustrated that no one was seeing reason. “I don’t give a _damn_ about my secrets. They know enough!”

“I know, mate, but—“

“Malfoy,” Harry continued, cutting off Ron, “ _lived_  with Voldemort for a year. Luna was with us in the Department of Mysteries. They know about the Chamber opening—they know about that ruddy tournament and how I saw Voldemort come back to life. Hell, Malfoy is convinced that  _I_  came back to life! What are they going to think when they hear that?”

Ron shared an uncomfortable look with Hermione.

“Even better,” he added, laughing darkly. “What are they going to think when they hear my story?—the story  _everyone_  knows in our world—of how I survived a Killing Curse and got rid of Voldemort as a baby? I’m sure they’re going to love that. I’m sure my parents are just going to love hearing that they _died_ and I survived—that I survived only to be shipped off to my muggle relatives where I knew nothing about magic until Hagrid came and knocked down that bloody door!”

He stopped himself then, suddenly aware that he was speaking his fears out loud, suddenly aware of the piteous looks he was receiving, and it was only after he stopped, that Harry realized he was shaking.

“Harry—mate,” Ron said awkwardly. “I…get where you're coming from, I really do, but what I was trying to say is that I don’t think they’re going to use Veritaserum. The Order has their hands tied if they want help from us, yeah?”

Harry didn’t say anything.

“But even if they do use it…I mean, you can sort of fight it off.  I know I was confused, but the potion didn’t make me spill my life story. I just had to answer some sort of truth. And they would have to ask really specific questions…” Ron scratched the back of his head. “Besides, you’re forgetting how tough Luna is. She’ll probably just stare at them.” Ron smiled crookedly. “Veritaserum probably wouldn’t work on her anyway—her version of the truth has always been different, right? And Malfoy—he’s good at sliming his way out of just about anything. They’ll be alright. We need to make sure we’re ready when we go back there because I have a feeling once we do, we’re going to be stuck with the Order for good.”

Harry sighed, knowing Ron was right.

“And hey, at least we know they’re not with You-Know-Who, right?”

And Harry definitely couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah, alright,” he relented. He was still embarrassed and he was still scared of what the Order…and his parents would learn of him, but he needed to believe Luna and Malfoy could hold their own for a bit. “Give me a book and tell me what to do before I change my mind.”

Hermione immediately flew into action, digging through the clutter of the table. As she handed them each a book and a sheet of parchment, Harry pulled out Luna’s coin and sent her a coded message, letting her know Ron was safe and they were back where he had last seen her.  Then Hermione was instructing them on how to use the dictation charm and pointing her wand at the books that sat in front of them. The books sprang open, their pages automatically flipping to the first bit of highlighted information.

It was dull work, Harry thought. Most information wasn’t even worth dictating. Hermione found more laws restricting Muggleborns. Ron was chastised for reading an article on the Chudley Cannons who were apparently just as awful in this world. Harry learned his brother’s name was Jude after coming across the 1996 Gryffindor Quidditch Team announcement where he discovered both his counterpart and brother were chasers. And Zabini happened across the article announcing Umbridge’s victory as the new Minister of Magic.  As it turned out, Fudge had never been Minister in this world. Crouch had secured the position of Minister in 1990 and held it until early 1997 when he suddenly resigned due to health reasons.

Not that Harry believed this.

But other than the random tidbits of information here and there, most information was completely worthless. Minutes ticked by, pages kept flipping, and Harry found his mind drifting—wondering if Malfoy and Luna were truly alright, wondering what Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Black were up to, and wondering why Severus Snape confronted Peter Pettigrew in this world…

And then it hit him with a sickening force. He swore so loudly that Ron, Hermione, and Zabini all jumped in their seats.

“What?” Hermione said in alarm. “What did you find?”

But Harry didn't answer her. It had just suddenly clicked into place—the reason Snape and Pettigrew had flipped sides back home. It could all ultimately boil down to one key event…

The Prophecy.

Snape because Voldemort had threaten to go after Harry’s family after hearing it and he wanted to protect Harry’s mother…Pettigrew because Voldemort needed a spy who could give him the location of the Potters…

But Voldemort had never gone after the Potters here. He had disappeared long before…Just months before this world’s Harry had been born.

Harry’s heart was suddenly pounding. He didn’t know when the prophecy had been made—not exactly, but he did know it had been made just before his birth.

April 1980…it was possible…

Could the prophecy have been the reason Voldemort disappeared? Was it somehow linked to the divergence point?

“Harry!”

Harry emerged from his thoughts and discovered he wasn’t sitting anymore. He was pacing in front of the table with his hands in his hair.

“What’s wrong?”

The question came from Hermione. Harry took in her anxious expression, Ron’s weary face, and Zabini’s curious look and winced.  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Because it really didn’t matter. He was just grasping at air. The prophecy could have easily been made after April 1980 back home—he had no idea. Then there was a part of him telling him it didn’t make sense anyway. Why would Voldemort choose to run away after hearing a prophecy involving him and a newborn child?

It was more likely that the ruddy thing didn’t exist here and Harry had been brought here because of it—something he really didn’t want to think about.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Ron said.

“It is,” Harry said, sighing. He ran a hand down the back of his neck sheepishly, wishing he’d been able to control his errant thoughts because Ron didn’t look like he was going to back down. He tried to think of what to say, but before he could, he was saved by a faint tingling of bells. It was the signal Hermione had charmed around the table to warn them when someone was entering their area. Then he saw Hermione, wide-eyed, staring at a spot just behind him and suddenly his errant thoughts didn’t matter anymore because he heard a familiar drawl.

“Now isn’t this a cozy little scene. And to think, Lovegood had me convinced you were worried.”

Harry whirled around in surprise. Malfoy and Luna were emerging from the stacks. Malfoy looked a little worse for wear and Luna was looking more solemn than usual, but all Harry could feel in that moment was overwhelming relief.

“You’re here,” he said dumbly.

“Yes we are,” Malfoy said, “and no thanks to you, might I add.”

Harry laughed once. He didn’t have it in him to be annoyed. Not now. Not when everyone was finally back together. Not when all of this sitting around had unexpectedly paid off. He pulled Luna into a hug, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders.

“But  _how_  are you here?” Hermione said in the meanwhile. “I thought you two were taken by the other Harry?”

“Oh so you knew then?” Malfoy said. “And didn’t feel the need to do anything about it? How nice of you.”

“We were working on it,” Harry said, pulling away from Luna. He gave her an apologetic look.

“Yes, well, we managed to escape without your help. But do try to be a little bit timelier the next time I’m kidnapped.”

“Wait a second,” Ron said. “You escaped?” His voice was colored with doubt and Harry couldn’t blame him for it. Harry looked to Luna for confirmation. “How?”

“Well it was easy really,” Malfoy began, but Luna was already shaking her head.

“It was your mother, Harry. She let us go.”

“Lovegood,” Malfoy whined, “you’re not supposed to  _tell_  them that. We talked about this.”

Behind Harry, Ron snorted, but Harry’s mind was elsewhere. “My mother?” He said.

Luna nodded. Her eyes searched his face intently, making him swallow nervously. “Yes, and she’s very worried about you.”

Harry blinked. “She is?”

“Yeah,” Malfoy said. “You should have heard the sob story she gave us. She’s under the impression we’ll be able to convince you to come to them—them being your parents.”

“What?” Harry said weakly.

Luna gave him a sympathetic smile and pulled an envelope out of her pocket. “She gave me this to give to you,” she said, placing it into his hand.

Harry stared down at the envelope. On it was his name in flourished handwriting he just barely recognized. His mother—his would-have-been mother—had written him a letter. He looked back up to find everyone staring at him expectantly.

“We checked it for any obvious hexes, curses, or tracking charms,” Malfoy said, maneuvering his way around Harry. “Not that you were worried about that sort of thing.”

“But,” Harry started, trying to wrap his brain around this new turn in events, “Dumbledore. Dumbledore was okay with this? Just letting you go with a letter?”

Malfoy took Harry’s next to Zabini and cocked a brow. “Who said anything about Dumbledore?” 

“Are you saying Dumbledore doesn’t know about you?” Ron clarified incredulously.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Weasley. The only people who know anything about me, or Lovegood for that matter, are Potter’s dear parents, his wayward godfather, and his favorite werewolf. Oh, then there’s Potter himself—the other Potter, who I have affectionately renamed Scarless.”

“Could you at least try to be a little less irritating,” Harry said tiredly.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Malfoy said cheekily.

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Hermione said. “Why would Harry’s parents not notify Dumbledore after everything that’s happened?”

“Easy, Granger. It’s called blackmail.”

“Finally,” Zabini said, closing the book in front of him. “Someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“I’m offended you would expect anything less of me, Blaise.”

Ron gave Harry a pointed look that quite clearly said, _I told you so_ , as Harry groaned. “I don’t even want to know,” he said as Malfoy and Zabini exchanged a smirk. “I really really don’t.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to tell you.”

Harry groaned again.

“But it couldn’t have been that bad,” Hermione mused, eyeing both Luna and Malfoy, "not if they were willing to let you two go." Her gaze then shifted to the letter in Harry's hand. "And they want to meet you, Harry. Maybe we could use this to our advantage. Maybe they’d be willing to help us without involving Dumbledore.”

Malfoy snorted. “I’m glad you appreciate my work, Granger, but there is no way in hell I’m going back there. They put a Tracker on me that Lovegood found when we were checking that letter. Why track their lost son when they can track me instead?”

“Can’t say I really blame them,” Ron said, “seeing as you blackmailed them and all.”

“Actually,” Zabini said awkwardly before Malfoy could retort. “That Tracker was probably your mother’s doing. She must have suspected you because she saw you being kidnapped from Fortescue’s. I overheard her talking, that’s how we knew you’d been taken.”

Surprise flitted over Malfoy’s face before it settled into a scowl.

“Yeah,” Harry said, thankful for any reason to get the attention off of him. “What happened to you anyway? Where have you been?”

Malfoy’s expression deepened. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“How can you even say that? We’ve been looking for you. You owe us. If you were interacting with your mother long enough for her to grow suspicious of you how come _you_ didn’t figure it out?”

Malfoy glared at him hatefully. In the background, Zabini was shaking his head minutely, warning Harry off.

“I  _said_  I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad. Your mother told Bellatrix about what she saw at Fortescue’s—that you were taken by the other Harry. The only saving grace about this whole ordeal was that they had no idea who Luna was, but there are going to be consequences. I need to know if your family is going to go after my counterpart. I need to know if there is any chance of this getting back to Voldemort. Maybe you heard your mother say something—“

“My mother didn’t talk about the Dark Lord when he was living under our roof, Potter.”

Harry bit back a retort, knowing he has treading dangerous waters.

“It was your precious godfather,” Malfoy continued in a spat, “who mentioned something. According to _him_ , I took the Mark here as well. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Ron swore, mimicking Harry’s own thoughts perfectly because no, that wasn’t what Harry wanted to hear.  He hadn’t been expecting anything else, but the threat of Voldemort discovering their presence was now a very real possibility. It was a threat he could previously ignore because he had been so focused on finding everyone, but if the Malfoy’s began investigating the group’s presence, then the Order was going to be the least of the group’s worries.

And then there was Harry’s counterpart. He had absolutely no idea what the Malfoy’s would do to him, but he was at least comforted by the fact that the bloke was in the Order. Surely he could hold his own…

“Speaking of your counterpart,” Hermione said. She pulled Harry from his thoughts, but she was addressing Malfoy, “do you have any idea where he is? I mean, I assume you weren’t holed up at the Manor with him.”

“Brilliant deduction, Granger,” Malfoy said. “Bravo.” Hermione glared. “And no, I don’t know where he is. Mother mentioned something about not expecting me until tomorrow morning. Make what you will of it, but that’s all I know."

"Yeah, but what are the chances of your parents figuring this all out when he shows up?" Harry said.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and huffed. "Well let's see, Potter. Did _you_ figure it out?"

"Well no, but—“

"Exactly, and it’s not because you’re an idiot that you didn’t. Only crackpots and crazies believe it's possible. No offense, Lovegood."

"None taken," she said, examining her nails.

"There are plenty of more sensible explanations out there—Polyjuice, the Imperius, dark magic. They'll probably just think I was some Order spy." Malfoy scowled at the thought. "Are we done here?" 

‘ _No_ ,’ Harry thought. His mind was whirling with questions, but he doubted Malfoy would answer any of them. Malfoy’s cooperation had already been stretched thin and Harry had enough to go on for the moment anyway, so he nodded.  Malfoy slouched down in his chair, looking relieved.

“So now what?” Ron asked after the silence that followed.

Harry shrugged. He had some thoughts of sending out a warning to his counterpart, but only one thing was obvious to him.

“We figure out how to get home,” he said. The weary looks that met this statement, however, were hardly encouraging, but Harry refused to let them affect him. They were all back together and _safe_. “Maybe we should take a break though,” he added, hopefully. “I don’t know about you lot, but I’m starving.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron said, stretching his arms out. “That sounds fantastic. I’m in.”

“But Harry…” Hermione said. She was frowning and eyeing Harry’s hand. “What about your parents?”

Oh right, there was also that. Harry had completely forgotten about his mother’s letter. He looked down at it and still didn’t know how he felt about it.  “I don’t know," he said, honestly.

“Either way,” Luna said, still beside him, “we should let them know.  I know they’re waiting to hear from you.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably because he didn’t want to make this decision right then—hell, he didn’t want to make this decision at all because while a large part of him wanted to avoid his parents at all costs—and the pain that came along with it—another part of him was achingly curious.

“I still think we should consider going to them for help,” Hermione said carefully. “If they were willing to keep Luna and Malfoy a secret from Dumbledore then I bet they’d be willing to keep us a secret as well.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, frowning.

“You go right ahead,” Malfoy said. He had picked up Harry’s quill and was doodling lazily over Harry’s notes, “but I’m still not going back there. Tracker spell or not, my time with your family, Potter, wasn’t exactly what I’d call fun.”

“We’re not splitting up,” Harry said firmly. “That’s not an option.”

“And I’m not going back there.”

“We might not have a choice,” Hermione said impatiently. “This is about us getting home, not about whether or not you’re having fun.”

Malfoy regarded Hermione coolly, but it was Zabini who spoke. “Calm down, Granger,” he said. “We’re fine right now. There’s no reason to take an unnecessary risk.”

“An unnecessary risk?” Hermione said in disbelief. “We are currently living in a tent.”

“A tent?” Ron and Malfoy questioned in unison.

“The people of this world are beginning to learn of our presence and we have no idea how to get home.  _None_.” She slammed the book in front of her shut as if to emphasize her point.

“That’s not necessarily true either,” Zabini said, his eyes flicking towards Harry. “Besides, do you really think Potter’s parents would know?”

Harry swallowed as Hermione and Zabini stared determinately at each other. Zabini’s words didn’t really surprise him—not with everything else that had happened—but they still made Harry’s throat go dry.  This was just one more person who believed he was here for a reason.

“We’re going to need help,” Hermione said stubbornly, shoving the book away from her. “We can’t do this alone.”

“Says who?” Zabini retorted.

“Says logic,” Hermione snapped. “Even if going home means helping this world somehow—which I _highly_ doubt,” she added, sending Harry a pointed look, “we’re going to need help. You can’t honestly believe otherwise.”

“I can actually. Especially when considering how easily you three managed to do so back home.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Zabini,” Ron said, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Of course not,” Malfoy sneered, “because you three have decided to keep it to yourselves.”

“Oh not this—“

“Stop!” Harry bellowed, cutting off Hermione and earning himself four affronted looks. “Just all of you—stop it.” He waved the envelope in the air. “We don’t even know what this says. Maybe we should read it before we start arguing about what we’re going to do, yeah?”

Malfoy scoffed. “Go on then,” he challenged. “Read it.”

Harry hesitated. He actually had no intentions of reading it in front of an audience.

Zabini sighed. “You’re right, Potter.” He then reached for his wand, rested his elbow on the table, and pointed his wand at Harry. “We’re not going to get anything done until you read that thing. So go find yourself a nice private corner. Read it. Have a nice little cry or whatever it is you plan on doing and get back to us.” He flicked his wand and for the third time that day, Harry felt his features transform. Zabini then waved his hand, signaling for Harry to go. “Have fun.”                                                   

Harry stared at Zabini, as did Hermione, Ron, and Malfoy.

"What?" Zabini grumbled. "Potter's not the only one who's lost a parent.”

“No, he’s not,” Luna said, quietly. She was smiling sadly at Zabini as everyone else seemed to shift their gazes away in embarrassment. “But take your time, Harry. We won’t go anywhere.”

“Right,” Harry said. “You’re sure?” He looked around at everyone uncertainly. He felt pretty pathetic, but he also knew Zabini had a point. The group wasn’t going to come to a firm decision before Harry read this bloody letter. And the thought of reading it in front of Malfoy, or hell, even under Hermione’s concerned gaze made him feel a little queasy.

“Of course,” Luna encouraged.

“Right, well, I won’t be long then.”

Hermione, Ron, and Zabini all nodded once in understanding. Malfoy, on the other hand, had gone back to doodling all over Harry’s notes, apparently having no interest in what was going on anymore. Figuring he just needed to get this over with, Harry turned away. He had almost made it into the stacks, just beyond Hermione’s wards, when Malfoy decided he had something to say after all.

“Potter, wait.”

And against his better judgment, Harry stopped.

“I don’t care what you do. You can go traipsing back to your parents and live happily ever after for all I care.”

Harry turned back around, surprised because Malfoy almost sounded worried.

“But you need to think about it—really think about it. What are you going to say, for example, when they ask you about our world? Are you going to tell them that they died? Are you going to tell them you grew up an orphan with your muggle relatives?”

“Malfoy,” Ron growled. “Shut it. This is Harry’s decision. Not yours.”

“I’m not saying it to be mean,” Malfoy said, but Harry had to wonder. Malfoy was speaking to Harry’s very fears. “I’m saying it because Potter’s parents are curious and it’s something Potter needs to consider as he reads that letter. His parents are going to be asking questions and I can’t imagine them being too happy with the answers. Nor can I imagine them wanting to send Potter home to a world where he has no family.”

Harry swallowed. Ron and Hermione looked furious.

“I’m Harry’s family,” Ron said, pointing a finger at his chest. “Hermione is Harry’s family. Harry has a family so can you please just  _shut up_.”

Malfoy didn’t respond to Ron, he turned back to Harry. “Just think about it, Potter.”

Without responding, Harry gave Ron a grateful look and fled into the stacks. He knew Malfoy was probably just scared, but his words had burrowed under Harry’s skin, reminding him of his own fears over meeting his family and solidifying them. He had no idea what he would say to them. None at all…and he couldn’t help but wonder if Malfoy was right: would his parents be unwilling to send him home if they knew what his life consisted of? Harry had no idea…

And yet, Hermione also had a point. More likely than not the group was going to need some sort of help and while Luna’s parents had offered their help, Harry wasn’t sure how useful they’d be. Harry’s parents, on the other hand, were in the Order…they had connections that could be extremely useful…

Harry weaved his way out of the stacks feeling more confused than before. He just needed to get away from there. He needed to get some fresh air and to clear his mind because he didn’t even know which thoughts were his own anymore.

He needed to read this letter…

He took off down the open staircase as fast as his legs could carry him and soon he was bursting out of the library’s front doors.  He strode down the cobblestone street, beneath a twilight sky, and navigated his way through the lingering crowds.  He didn’t stop until he came to the small square outside of Gringotts. Despite the late hour, it was still well-populated from people running in and out of the bank. Harry sat down on one of the empty benches which lined the square’s large fountain, taking comfort in the people who surrounded him. He may have wanted to read this letter alone, but he didn’t want to  _be_  alone.

He took a deep breath and tore the crumbled envelope open.

_Harry-_

_There is so much I want to say to you, now that I know who you are. Your friends, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Lovegood, were not very forthright with information. We know so little about you, but that doesn’t matter._

_It doesn’t, Harry, because no matter what our lives are like in your world, you will always be welcome here with us. I hope you already know this, I hope so badly that this is obvious to you, but given the past day, I can’t be sure._

_We want you to be safe and we want to help you in any way we can, but most of all we want you to understand that you have no responsibilities here in this world. I know that you spoke with Albus and while we don’t know the specifics, we know the general gist of what he said to you and what he said, Harry, is wrong. You and your friends do not owe this world anything and don’t let Albus or anyone else convince you otherwise._

_We would be thrilled if you decided to stay with us. Your friends are welcome as well. There is plenty of room (as I’m sure you already know) and dozens of wards that would provide you protection. If this option doesn’t appeal to you, there are a number of Order safe houses that are available. Just come by the Manor and we can work out the details of getting everyone through the wards._

_As for your current situation, your father has already looked into it at work—under hypothetical pretenses, of course. He is currently unsure of a solution, but he is going to continue to look into it. Together, I’m sure we can figure out how to get you home._

_And lastly, we want to apologize for how your friends were treated. We are truly sorry and hope you understand that it was done out of confusion and not out of malice._

_Be safe. Be careful. And we hope to see you very soon._

_With much love,_

_Mum and Dad_

Harry stared at the bottom of the parchment, breathless. Then he skimmed it again, taking in the details. He wasn’t surprised they had offered their help. Nor was he surprised by the apology. But what he hadn’t expected were those last three words.

He hadn’t expected they would consider him unquestionably theirs.

Sure he had thought of them as his parents in his head or out loud with the group, but that had been for simplicity’s sake. They weren’t actually his parents…

His parents were dead.

Harry swore underneath his breath because he already knew his answer. It was the same as his first instincts had been.

No.

He just couldn’t. He was still achingly curious and he was beyond grateful that his parents didn’t think he was here to off Voldemort, but he just couldn’t allow himself to get close to them.  He felt ridiculous for even entertaining the notion.  He needed to focus on getting the group home and he knew going to his parents would only hinder that effort more than help.

It wouldn’t be fair to the others…

Then there was the fact that he didn’t even know where this so-called manor was… that would be fun to explain. So would the fact that he didn’t even know where his own father worked…

Harry laughed to himself as he refolded the letter.  Malfoy had been right; there was no way Harry would be able to get away without explaining things.  It would be a complete disaster. Decision firm in place, Harry pocketed the letter with a sigh and that’s when someone spoke to him.

“That must have been some letter.”

The voice was smooth, coming from Harry’s right, and it startled him.

“I could practically feel your emotions rolling right off of you.”

It startled him not because he was caught off guard, but because the voice was chillingly familiar.  He slowly craned his head to find that he was right.

Tom Riddle was sitting on the next bench over.

And Harry could only stare. Riddle was young and vibrant, hardly looking any older than when Harry had seen him in the Chamber of Secrets.  His hair was a bit different.  His robes were more modern. But it was undoubtedly him, right down to the charming smile.

‘ _What the hell?_ ’

The only reasonable explanation Harry could come up with was the diary. Somehow that piece of soul had escaped and was now sitting next to him…

But what did this mean? Did this world have two Tom Riddles…? Or had the original version died and been brought back via the diary…? Harry desperately hoped for the latter.

“It must’ve been from someone quite special,” Riddle continued. He was still smiling and Harry blinked because he had been too busy trying to figure out what was going on to remember Riddle had been talking to him.

“What?”

“Your letter,” Riddle said, now sounding amused. He nodded towards Harry’s robes.

“Oh,” Harry replied, looking down at his chest. “Right. It’s uh, from my parents.” Then he mentally berated himself because he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was still sitting there and explaining himself to Tom Riddle.

“Ah,” Riddle said. “I can’t say I have much experience with that. I never met mine.”

Harry must have given him a look then, and really, who would have blamed him for it, because Riddle immediately began to backtrack. 

"How terribly rude of me," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to spoil your moment."

"You didn't," Harry said shortly. Then he stood because he had to get out of there. Not only was Riddle trying to earn sympathy points for _not having parents_ , Harry could also recognize this for what it was—Tom Riddle was interested in him. Tom Riddle did not just strike up conversations with random strangers. There was a reason Riddle was talking to him and Harry didn't want to find out why. "But I really should get going,” he added. “It was great meeting you and all though.”

"But you didn’t.”

"What?" Harry said, confused.

"You didn't meet me," Riddle clarified. He was studying Harry now with his head cocked slightly to one side. "Unless…you already know me somehow...?"

Harry shook his head, trying to ignore his rapidly beating heart. "No," he said, "I can't say I do. I reckon I meant in a general sense."

Riddle studied him for another long tortuous moment. “Well then, in that case, I’m Tom.”

“Tom?” Harry repeated, incredulous, because bloody hell, the bloke didn’t even find it necessary to change his name. Surely Dumbledore knew about this…

“I know, it’s a terribly common name…but you are?”

“Vernon,” Harry said, the lie coming quite easily to him.  “And I really should get going now.” He patted his front pocket. “I’ve got a letter to write.” Or several, he mentally added to himself.

“Of course,” Riddle said, inclining his head. “It was nice to meet you, Vernon.”

Not wanting to chance his luck, Harry began his retreat, fighting every urge to run. He had only made it five steps, however, when he felt a gentle push on the back of his mind.  Harry had felt it enough times in his life to know exactly what was going on. He closed his mind and easily forced Riddle out of it.

Behind him, Riddle chuckled. “Oh you shouldn’t have done that. You’re only making me more curious.”

Harry swore to himself, but otherwise continued on. Riddle, however, didn’t let him go so easily. He began to follow.

‘ _This is not happening_ ,’ Harry thought desperately. ‘ _This is not happening.'_

But it was happening. Riddle was right behind him and growing more interested in him by the second.

“Come on,” Riddle said as he got closer. “You don’t have to run. There’s just something about you—something I can’t quite place my—“

Then the rest of Riddle’s words were lost—they were lost to a wonderful sense of calm the moment Riddle placed his hand on Harry’s left shoulder. The same overwhelming sense of relief that Harry had felt with the diadem was now pulsing through his veins and he knew Riddle could feel it too. Riddle had whirled him around and was staring at his hand. His eyes glittered with undisguised interest.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “I knew there was something about you.”

Harry wrenched free of Riddle’s grip. He tried to stay calm as the sense of relief left him and was replaced with unadulterated panic.

“I need to go now,” he said shakily.

Riddle grabbed his arm, instantly putting Harry back at ease. “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t,” Harry insisted.

“But you know what it is?” 

Harry shook his head and tried to pull himself from Riddle’s grasp, but Riddle only tightened his fingers around his arm. “Surely you have an idea at least,” Riddle pressed. “Why else would you be acting this way?”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He was half tempted to use Zabini’s approach and just Obliviate Riddle, but he doubted it would work.  He didn’t know what would work.

“But even if you don’t,” Riddle continued, now sounding more careful, “you must be curious.” Harry swallowed because he was curious, just not in the same way as Riddle. “And I admit I have a few theories of my own. We could go somewhere and talk about it.” He held his free hand up in apology. “No more mind tricks. I promise.”

Harry snorted at that, but then the situation got even worse. A new yet immediately familiar voice joined in.

“Tom? Is that you? Am I interrupting something?”

Bellatrix Lestrange, looking elegant and sane, was striding towards them.  Her voice had a nervous quality to it that did little to ease Harry’s mind. The Bellatrix he knew had only ever sounded nervous when she had wronged her master.

“Yes, Bella,” Riddle answered, his expression tight.

“My apologies,” Bellatrix said, her eyes flicking curiously to Harry. “I’ll just wait then.”

“Don’t,” Riddle responded. He was still holding on to Harry’s arm, but he had turned his head to look at Bellatrix over his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter anymore. There’s been a change in plans.”

Bellatrix looked surprised and when her eyes flicked towards Harry again, Harry understood perfectly. He didn’t know what plans Riddle had up his sleeve, but he understood he had been the one to change them. It was time to end this madness. He forcefully yanked his arm from Riddle’s grip and Apparated to the first place he could think of, Hogsmeade.

He then threw himself into an alleyway and leaned against the wall. His heart was racing, his breathing was quick, and his gut was filled with dread, partially because he had lost contact with Riddle, but mostly because it had happened in the first place…

This was bad—really bad…

He was still inexplicably linked to Voldemort and now Tom Riddle knew…

Harry was terrified. He didn’t know how this had happened, nor what any of it meant…

But he did know one thing for sure. His encounter with Riddle had only cemented his feelings on his parents. He had to stay far away from them, because the closer Harry got to them, the more he would put them in danger.

Tom Riddle was going to be looking for him and in that moment, Harry could only be grateful for Zabini’s disguise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the comments and kudos. You guys are amazing. :)


	14. The Next Riddle (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's AU Harry's turn to shine. =) Here's the second half of the previous chapter.

On a small stoop in front of an oddly shaped house, Harry stood with his father. Harry examined a peculiar orange fruit littering a bush next to him as his father knocked on the heavy blue front door.

They waited a minute, then two, and as each moment passed the more clear the obvious became to Harry.

His dad knocked again, incessantly this time.

“Dad,” Harry began wearily, “maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

His dad gave him a look. “You said Selene Lovegood was acting oddly.” He knocked on the door again.

“She’s _always_ odd.”

“She knows, Harry. She _has_ to know and I’ll stand out here all bloody day if I have to until someone answers this door.”

Harry pursed his lips as his father knocked again because while he could see the obvious, his dad was too stubborn and too hopeful to see it.

They were too late.

It had been almost a day since Harry’s mum had let Malfoy and Lovegood go free.  Harry hadn’t honestly believed they would return with the other Harry in tow, but that still hadn’t stifled the disappointment when it didn’t happen.  Now it was Saturday afternoon, the weekend was steadily ticking by, and the reality of the situation was difficult to ignore.

The other Harry had no intentions of meeting them.

And really, these intentions had been obvious for awhile now. Harry had suspected them at the Order meeting yesterday evening and they had been resolutely confirmed only hours later when his mother had received a short response to the heartfelt letter she had sent to his counterpart.

Apparently, his counterpart didn’t want to _burden_ them.

It had been the most rubbish excuse Harry had ever heard of, but that hadn’t even been the worse of it. The post owl which had delivered the letter had flown off the moment she dropped it and when Harry’s mum crafted a new letter anyway and summoned the family owl, Nydia, to deliver it, Nydia _hadn’t_ flown off.  Instead, she had cocked her head in confusion and had hopped over to Harry himself.

They had no way to contact the other Harry because owls could not detect him…

And while his mum cried and Sirius half-joked about tracking spells; Harry had reread his counterpart’s response, irritated, because it had been clear to him then that his counterpart had known this would happen—that he had purposely closed the door on them.

If that hadn’t been enough to spell out his counterpart’s intentions, then the second letter certainly had. It had arrived later on, long after his parents had gone to bed. The owl had come straight to Harry’s bedroom window and hadn’t even bothered to deliver it properly. It had shoved the letter into the holly tree right outside Harry’s bedroom window and took off before Harry could even get out of bed.

Harry had been so annoyed by it all he had been half tempted to cast an _Incendio_ on the letter and be done with it, but curiosity had gotten the better of him.

And so had hope, because he still had it then—a small inkling of it that his counterpart had changed his mind and had reached out to him…

The letter, however, had only been a warning:

_Narcissa Malfoy saw what happened at Fortescue’s today and she told her sister, Bellatrix—I don’t know what sort of rumors you’ve heard about her, but I haven’t heard anything good. Keep your eyes open._

_And stay away from Tom._

A very strange warning that Harry had replayed in his head over and over again because it left him with more questions than answers—he didn’t know any blokes named Tom, none in particular anyway and while Bellatrix Lestrange’s husband, Rodolphus, was a known Death Eater, she was not. In fact, she was relatively tame in comparison to everyone else the Order kept dibs on. She was well known for hosting charity functions with her sister, Narcissa.

The letter’s vagueness had been maddening. Who exactly was this Tom person? What did he look like? And why was Bellatrix such a concern?—was it because she was well-connected or was it something else?  Harry didn’t know and while he had appreciated the heads up about the Malfoy’s, the letter had angered him more than anything else—not because it had been vague, but because he knew it had been his counterpart’s way of severing ties with him guilt free.

The message—his counterpart’s intentions—had been made perfectly clear.

He had gone to sleep frustrated with him self for being so disappointed and angry with his counterpart for being so bloody stubborn. And when he had woken up late that morning feeling more or less the same way, he had come to a firm decision. He was going to forget all about his counterpart lest he go insane.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn’t control his parents.

He had found them in the kitchen that morning, worrying and fretting: Did his counterpart have money for food? Would their charm be enough to keep Malfoy’s mouth shut? Would Dorcas really tell Dumbledore everything come Monday? Where was his counterpart staying? Was there any chance the Malfoy’s knew what had happened at Fortescue’s and would come after Harry?…

Needless to say, Harry didn’t tell his parents about the second letter. They would have never let him leave the house again if they had known the truth…

But his parents worrying and fretting had taken an interesting turn then. They had begun to wonder if the Malfoy’s or Lovegood’s had any inclination of what was going on and that’s when Harry had remembered Selene Lovegood’s stranger than normal behavior the day before.

It had all made a little more sense and another spark of hope had shot through him—a spark of hope that had led him and his dad to the Lovegood’s front stoop because if Selene Lovegood knew what was going on, and Harry had a feeling that she did, then she might have a way to get in touch with the other Harry.

It hadn’t mattered that his counterpart’s intentions were clear because Potter’s just didn’t give up—not on family—something his counterpart quite obviously understood because the bloke was apparently one step ahead of them— _again_.

“Oi! This is James Potter—Harry Potter’s father. I need to speak with someone!”

Harry sighed as his father continued to knock. “Look dad, I’ll just speak with Selene on Monday.”  He was convinced that his counterpart had somehow persuaded the Lovegoods to ignore them, but it wasn’t like Selene could avoid Harry at work.

“That’s two days away, Harry.”

“Well at least it’s _something_. We’re not doing any good here.”

His dad looked at him, long and hard, and Harry could still see it in his eyes—the hope that this was going to work and Harry didn’t want to be the one to crush it.

“Maybe he just needs a couple of days,” Harry suggested, “you know, to sort him self out and then he’ll change his mind.”

“Right,” his father said, eyeing him dryly, “and you can be the one to explain that to your mother when we get home.”

Harry groaned.

“That’s what I thought.” His dad turned back to the house and began to pound on the door again. “We can’t just give up. What if it were you? We just need to find him so we can speak to him and…figure this out.” There was a desperate edge to his voice that made Harry cringe.

“I know, dad.”

“This is going to work,” his dad continued between knocks. “It just has to because I don’t know what we’re going to do if it—“

The door swung open then—it opened so suddenly that Harry swore he would have missed it if he would’ve blinked—and just beyond the threshold stood a harried looking Selene Lovegood.

“Oh thank Godric,” his dad said, dropping his hand. “Finally.”

Selene’s pale brows rose at that. Her long blonde hair was collected in a loose bun on top of her head and she was wearing nothing more than a thin house robe. Harry automatically averted his eyes, it wasn’t clear what Selene had being doing, but it was clear she had been disturbed. He then caught the tang of herbs—rosemary, chamomile, and something else he couldn’t quite identify—wafting from the house and he wondered if he had been wrong after all. Maybe Selene hadn’t been purposely ignoring them. Maybe they still had a chance…

And once again, hope tugged at Harry’s gut.

“Harry?” Selene said, studying both him and his father. “My word, what are doing here?”

“You must be Selene,” his dad said without giving Harry a chance to explain. “I’m James Potter, Harry’s father, and there is something important I need to ask you.”

Selene’s brows rose even further.

“Wait,” Harry said quickly because now that he had another sliver of hope he didn’t want his dad to ruin it. Harry had hardly been looking forward to this conversation with Selene—there was a decent possibility of him looking completely insane, after all—but he also knew his dad wasn’t the right person for the job. “Dad, I got this.” Then without waiting for a reply, he turned to his coworker. “Selene, I’m really sorry to bother you at your home like this, but my dad is right, we have something important to ask you.”

“You must,” Selene said. “You scared my poor Luna half to death.”

Harry exchanged a look with his father. “Right, well here’s the thing. The last few days have been really strange.” He fixed Selene with a steady look, determined. “I was Obliviated on Thursday evening, and then yesterday I received a letter from the ministry claiming I had cast a Patronus in front of Muggles in this very area. There was a witness and everything.”

“That was yours?” Selene said curiously. “I would have never pinned you for a stag.”

“A stag?” Harry’s father blurted out in disbelief.

Selene gave him a puzzled look. “Yes, I saw it. It was as clear as day, right over there.” She pointed to a hill over Harry’s right shoulder. “It was quite magnificent actually.” She smiled at Harry.

Harry couldn’t help but glance over at his dad then—he looked speechless and Harry was honestly close to it because Selene’s instincts had been right. A stag was his dad’s animal—his patronus and animagus— _not_ Harry’s. Harry’s was a hawk, something that had come as no surprise to him since he loved to fly so much. But this was apparently not the case with his counterpart. Harry hadn’t even considered the possibility of his counterpart having a different patronus from him. Nor did he know what to make of the fact that not only did he not share one with Harry, but that he shared one with their dad.

“No, that’s just it,” Harry said, deciding to push away his thoughts so he could move on. “It wasn’t mine. My patronus isn’t even a stag. It was just cast by someone who _looked_ like me and I’ve been trying to figure out who it was ever since I got that letter yesterday.”

It was only half the story, of course, but it was the best Harry could do since Selene was not in the Order’s tight circle. But regardless of whether it was the full story or not, Selene’s expression had turned thoughtful and it gave Harry the courage—and hope—he needed to say what he needed to say.

“And last night I finally figured out who it was, it was me…from another dimension.”

Harry watched Selene carefully then. Her expression was blank, completely unreadable, but then she blinked.

“Pardon?” she said.

Harry’s heart sank a little. “I know it sounds crazy,” he tried, “but—“

“Sounds crazy? It _is_ crazy, but more importantly what does this have to do with me?”

Selene wrapped her robe more tightly against her and Harry smiled uncomfortably because he knew then that this wasn’t going to work. And really, he had known all along. She had taken _forever_ to answer the door. And maybe his counterpart hadn’t had anything to do with that, maybe she had actually been busy, but if Selene Lovegood truly knew about his counterpart and was going to cooperate, Harry wouldn’t have had to explain anything at all.

Selene Lovegood was officially a dead end.

“Because,” Harry’s dad said, causing Harry to wince, “Harry isn’t the only one who has come to us from another world, your daughter, Luna, has as well.”

“Luna?” Selene repeated doubtfully. “My Luna?”

“Yes, and we’re thinking that they came to you, sometime on Thursday evening, just after they arrived here. It would explain why this other Harry was in this area when he cast the Patronus. And I also know you spoke with Harry on Friday—I know you wanted to discuss something with him.”

“I wanted to discuss an experiment.” Selene said in bewilderment. “Not dimensional travel.”

Harry winced again.

“Please,” Harry’s dad begged. “We have to know. We talked to Luna last night, that’s how we figured out what was going on, but…do you know anything about this? Anything at all? We are just trying to get in touch with Harry. Do you know how? Please, it is of the greatest importance.”

Selene held up her hand then. Her eyes were closed, almost as if she were bracing herself. “I know that I’m open-minded,” she said, reopening her eyes. “And I know what they say about me at work,” she said to Harry. “But never in my years would I have thought that I’d be standing here having this conversation. What you must think of me.”

“No, Selene,” Harry said quickly. “It’s not like that.”

“Please,” Harry’s dad begged. “We just want to talk to him.”

“And I’ve heard enough,” Selene said, sounding flustered. “Good day.”

She then slammed the front door in their faces, ignoring their loud protests.

“Bloody hell,” Harry said a moment later. He rubbed his face underneath his glasses, cursing his counterpart for making life so difficult and himself for wanting to come to the Lovegood’s in the first place.

“She’s lying,” his father said vehemently. “She is _lying_.”

Harry laughed once against his hands. “Merlin, I hope so.” Because otherwise he had just effectively given one of his coworkers a good reason to never take him seriously again.

“But _why_? Why lie?”

“Because dad, he asked her to.” And as soon as he said it, Harry knew it was true.

His dad opened his mouth, to argue perhaps, but all that came out in the end was a long sigh. His shoulders then slumped in defeat and Harry knew that his father had finally accepted his counterpart’s intentions. The hope that had been present in his dad’s eyes only seconds before was now completely gone.

“Come on, son. Let’s go home.”

Harry’s mum didn’t take the news well and dinner that night was awful. His dad was distracted and unreachable—something Harry had never seen before. His mum stared absently out the kitchen window which had been conveniently left open since the night before. His brother, Jude, who had been brought up to speed on recent events, huffed irritably. And Harry ate his food half-heartedly, wondering if his counterpart knew what he was doing to his family.

Sleep then evaded him for the third night in a row and when Harry woke the next morning, he was desperate—desperate to forget about his counterpart and desperate for his life to just go back to normal. He grabbed his broom and went straight out to the family’s Quidditch pitch. Flying had always helped ease his nerves, it was his cure-all, but even his standard failsafe wasn’t working that morning because he found himself instead wondering if his counterpart did this very same thing…

He was hovering on his broom, staring into the morning horizon, asking himself a hundred things about his counterpart when his brother found him.

“Not you too,” Jude groaned. “When is everyone going to stop moping about?”

Still staring into the horizon, Harry scowled. “I’m not moping,” he said. “I’m thinking.”

“Same difference. Mum told me you came out here. I should have known better than to assume you’d want to play Quidditch.”

Harry swiveled around. Jude was approaching him on a broom of his own with a quaffle tucked underneath one arm and Harry felt guilt slowly creep up his spine. He had promised to help his brother practice that summer, but hadn’t exactly kept his promise with all of the work he had been doing.

“Just forget about him, alright?” Jude continued, tossing him the ball. “The whole lot of them. This is ridiculous.”

Harry caught the ball and looked at it thoughtfully. “I know…” he said. “It’s just…I want to know _why_?”

Because Harry knew not knowing the answer to that question was holding him back from moving on. He may have known his counterpart’s intentions, they were as clear as the morning horizon, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand them. It was the reason he couldn’t sleep at night. It was the reason he could think of little else. And it was the likely reason his parents were moping around the house because now that they had no way forward, they could do little else than dwell on the reason why.

_Why_   was a question Harry desperately needed answered.

Jude though didn’t look impressed. “Why?” he repeated. “Because he’s tosser, that’s why.”

“But there has to be some sort of reason, it just—“

“Harry,” his brother said, cutting him off. “He made mum cry— _Twice_.” Harry winced. “I don’t give two tosses what his reasons are.”

Harry sighed, he couldn’t really argue. Watching his mum cry had been awful.

“Now come on. I need to practice. School starts back up in a matter of weeks and at this rate my own team is going to kick me off for being complete rubbish.”

“Fine,” Harry relented, tossing his brother the ball. It was apparent that he was going to get little sympathy from his brother and he reckoned a bit of Quidditch would help distract him anyway. “Where do you want me?”

“What was that?” His brother said, cupping his hand around his ear. “Am I hearing someone from this house finally seeing reason?”

Harry laughed despite himself.  His brother had always been a bit dramatic—something his mother said he had learnt from Sirius. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m bollocks for a brother. Now stop being a prat and tell me where you want me.”

But his brother didn’t answer him—not right away. His expression had sobered, catching Harry by surprise.  “He’s the prat, Harry. I know he’s you…but he’s not. You would never do this to mum and dad.”

“I…I know.”

“Then forget about him, okay? He’s not worth knowing.”

Harry nodded, swallowing thickly, but then the moment was over. His brother zoomed passed him and flung the Quaffle through the middle goal post.

“Oi!” Harry called out after him. “That doesn’t count!”

Then he was off, flying through the sky with purpose, easily blocking his brother’s next shot.  He dove through the air, swerved around his brother, and laughed when his brother almost fell off his broom trying to block Harry’s own goal attempt. He didn’t know how long they played for—he didn’t know what the score ended up being—all he knew was when he touched down sometime later and hopped off his broom that he hadn’t felt better in days.

And it wasn’t because he had forgotten about his counterpart—no, because no matter how much he wanted to do so, he knew it was going to be a long while before that happened. Instead, playing Quidditch had given him a sense of peace.  If his counterpart didn’t want to meet, then that was _his_ loss, not Harry’s.

The reason why didn’t matter anymore.

So with a renewed sense of energy, he began to plan the rest of his day as he came off the pitch. He could finally focus on some research and he could spend some extra time with Susan after they had lunch with Neville and Hannah, but these plans were all but forgotten as Jude and he neared the back of the house.

The kitchen window over the sink was still open and from it, Harry could hear his mother yelling.

“And you think that’s an acceptable excuse!? You’ve had that job for twenty years! You’ve been keeping this from me this entire time?”

Harry exchanged a look with his brother, intrigued.  Not only was their mother talking, something she had barely done since the day before, but it sounded as if their dad had just revealed something important. His brother and he had spent many years eavesdropping on their parents, but rarely was it ever this easy. Harry dropped to his knees, motioned for his brother to follow, and they began crawling towards the kitchen window in unison.

“No, please, Lily,” his dad was saying in the meantime. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen—you have to believe that. I had every intention, but before I knew it, years had passed and nothing had ever come of it and I didn’t see any point of worrying you unnecessarily, not with everything else going on.”

“But now it’s come up again.”

“No,” he said, although it hadn’t been a question. “I took care of it…it’s just now with Harry—him not coming to us. I keep questioning my decision and wondering if I got it all wrong…”

“James,” Harry’s mum said, now sounding terrified. “What are you talking about? Harry—our Harry is home safe with us while our son from another world is…” she paused, struggling for a word.

“I know, Lily—I know.”

“Then what’s the problem? What decision are you questioning because clearly we are doing something right? I much prefer a son who chooses not to avoid me.”

His father sighed as Harry plastered himself against the house, underneath the window, with his knees tucked to his chest and his curiosity intensifying. He should have known this was somehow about his counterpart—everything was these past couple days, and while Harry didn’t know exactly what his parents were talking about, his new sense of peace left him because he had a feeling he was about to get some answers.

"I…Where are the boys?" His father said.

Harry was _definitely_ about to get some answers.

"Playing Quidditch,” his mother responded, “and if Jude has his way, they'll be out there all afternoon."

"But isn't Harry supposed to meet up with Neville and the girls today? Speaking of which, do you know where they're going because I don't know if I really like the idea of—“

"James," Harry's mother said empathetically as Harry rolled his eyes. "You're stalling, but if you're so worried about the boys then there. That should at least tell us when they're approaching."

_'Too bad we've already approached,_ _’_ Harry thought, unimpressed.

"Now tell me. What is this decision you’ve been questioning?”

"Right," Harry's father said, sounding suddenly anxious. The echo of his quick paced steps just piqued Harry’s interest even more. His dad was rarely ever nervous. “I’m not sure where to begin really, but…well, do you remember when the Hall of Prophecies was destroyed?”

Harry furrowed his brows in confusion as his mother answered. “Of course,” she said, equally taken aback. “It was right after Jude was born, but—“

“And do you remember how I had to work all of that overtime because of it?”

“I do,” she said, her words now slow. “You were at work more often than not—something made worse by the fact that you lot never figured out how it happened.”

Her tone was increasingly suspicious and when Harry’s dad laughed awkwardly, she hummed.

“It was you.”

Harry’s father didn’t deny it and Harry shared another look with Jude, stunned. If his dad was ever found out he would lose his job for sure and a stint in Azkaban was probably not out of the question either. And yet, Harry was still confused because he couldn’t understand how any of this had anything to do with his counterpart…

“Don’t worry,” his dad said, “no will ever know. I did a good job covering my tracks. All of that overtime was good for something.” He laughed awkwardly again.

“Is this it then?” his mum asked, not amused. “Is this the decision you’ve been questioning? Was this the other reason you became an Unspeakable—to destroy prophecies?” She sounded incredulous now. “Did Albus ask you to do this?”

“No…not exactly. He wasn’t too happy with my approach to be honest.  It was a nightmare to keep out of the press, but fortunately Bagnold took care of that herself.  Things were still precarious back then and she didn’t want the public to know how easily the ministry could be breached. But no, Albus didn’t ask me to destroy them, he asked me to protect one prophecy in particular and when that became too difficult, I took matters into my own hands.”

“So you took this job to protect a prophecy?”

“Don't get me wrong, I was still spying on Rookwood, but yes."

“And this prophecy, you know what it says?”

“I—yes…Albus told me.”

“And now with Harry not coming to us, you are regretting your decision to destroy it?”

“I…no, I wouldn’t say regret…”

“What does it say, James?”

Her tone was brisk and his dad sighed in defeat—it was a broken sound that scared Harry more than he cared to admit. It scared him so much that he didn’t know if he wanted to hear his father’s next words, but he sat rooted to the spot, his curiosity overruling his fear because he still couldn’t understand how a prophecy made so long ago had anything to do with his counterpart…

“It predicted the potential demise of Lord Voldemort, Lily.”

Harry blinked. Inside the house, his mother audibly inhaled.

“More specifically,” his father added with difficulty. “It predicted the person who would have the power to finally make it happen—a newborn child Lord Voldemort would one day see as his equal…”

The words were heavy and blunt, and finally Harry understood. He stared fixedly at his mum’s vegetable garden and tried to control his breathing because the prophecy hadn’t been about his counterpart, the prophecy had been about _him._

“Harry?” His mum breathed out, frightened.

Harry could feel Jude’s wide eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look back.

“Or Neville,” his dad said quietly and Harry closed his eyes because  _Neville_  wasn’t any better. Neville was his best mate. “The prophecy speaks of a boy born at the end of July to parents that had defied Voldemort three times—Harry or Neville.”

_Him_ _or Neville..._

"Alice and Frank—do they…?”

“No. Albus wanted to keep the number of people who knew to a minimum. He felt that as long as the prophecy was protected, that we had no need to worry them.”

His mum took a deep composing breath then. Harry could practically feel the frustration and fear rolling right off of her. “Okay then,” she said eventually, “so you protected it. You protected it then destroyed it so Voldemort would never get wind of it and come after the boys. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“But what I can’t understand,” his mother said, “is why you would ever regret making such a decision.”

Harry’s dad didn’t say anything.

“I mean, I can’t say I’ve ever put much faith in the things, but obviously this prophecy didn’t come true here. Are you trying to say you think that’s somehow because of you?—and that this is not the case in this other world? Because James, that just doesn’t make any sense!”

She sounded a bit hysterical and Harry couldn’t blame her for it because he was fairly certain that was _exactly_ what his dad was trying to say. Harry felt like he was going to be sick.

“Lily,” his father responded carefully. “I know you’ve never been one for Divination. Nor have I, for that matter, but prophecies are funny things. They’re not meant to be understood as absolute truths, the Department is certain about that.”

His mother scoffed and his dad laughed a little.

“And that’s a good thing. In fact, I have never been more thrilled about the infuriating ambiguity of damn things because do you know what that means? It means that we still have our choices. It means that our paths aren’t laid out for us and we aren’t mindlessly listening to a room full of orbs.”

Harry swallowed then. His father had once told him something very similar when he had considered taking Divination before his third year. His father had told him not to bother with the subject.

“Instead, what we know,” his dad continued, “is that prophecies foretell a _possibility_ —a very real and potential future.”

“You could say that of anything,” Harry’s mum said stubbornly.

“No, that’s just it. You really can’t. There are some paths this world is never meant to take. Figuring out what is and isn’t possible is half the battle sometimes. And that brings me to the most important bit. Prophecies are meant to be heard. They are specifically told to someone and not just to anyone. They are told to someone who can somehow benefit from the information—from knowing this particular possibility. It is as if this person has triggered the Seer to make the prophecy in the first place.”

“So they’re self-fulfilling,” his mother said.

“No, not necessarily,” his father responded, flustered. “They’re rarely ever so straight forward actually. There is a reason the Department studies them after all. But with that being said, would it really matter either way? If this prophecy between Voldemort and Harry had come true would you really have cared how?”

It was his mum’s turn not to say anything.

His father sighed. “Albus heard this prophecy, Lily. The leader of the resistance movement triggered this Seer and do you know what it did for him? It gave him hope. It gave him hope because he knew that defeating Lord Voldemort was actually possible. You remember what it was like back then. We were _losing_ and it was only getting worse and defeating that bastard felt like anything but possible.”

Harry let out a shaky breath because that was exactly what it felt like right now—hopeless.

“And when Albus told me—about the prophecy, I didn’t even believe him. I was watching you talk to Alice at the time, it was right after that wretched Order meeting, you know the one, and I thought it was just some sort of… joke, but then I saw his face. There was so much damn hope in his eyes and the fact that it was my son—my _unborn_ son who had put it there, terrified me. And that was before I really understood what Albus was willing to do in order to win.”

“Oh god,” Harry’s mum breathed out.

“Don’t you see now? Don’t you see why Albus thinks Harry has been brought here to save us? It’s because he already has it in his head, Lily.”

“No…”

“Yes. But that’s not even the worse of it. There was a reason Albus was so adamant that I take the position. It was because he hadn’t been the only one who had heard the prophecy. A Death Eater had been spying on him when it had been made. I don’t know who—he never told me, but they heard a part of it before Aberforth found them and cast a Stunner. They didn’t hear much—only that someone with the power to destroy the Dark Lord was approaching, but it was enough. Albus believes just hearing this caused Voldemort to disappear and change tactics.”

“Of course,” his mother said in realization. “And he couldn’t tell the Order—“

“—because if any of us were captured, he didn’t want to risk losing his new found hope.” His dad laughed bitterly then. “He only told me out of necessity and because he knew I wouldn’t say no.”

“Oh James…”

“And so I took the position. I took it because I had no choice. I perfected my Occlumency and I protected that prophecy with everything I had. And when that wasn’t enough—when Rookwood was making all of those snide hints, I destroyed it—I destroyed it and every blasted thing around it without hesitation—without any doubt of what I was doing was right because I had to protect Harry.”

The fierceness in his dad’s voice made Harry shiver. He had always known his parents loved him. He had always known they would go at lengths to protect him, but this put a whole new perspective on things.

And yet, he shivered for an entirely different reason as well…

“And it was, James,” Harry’s mother said. “You made the right choice.”

“I know,” his father said, but he was quiet now and unsure, and his words came after such a painfully long pause. “I know I did. I just…I just wish I knew what this other world was like. All we know is that Harry won’t come to us and his world’s Voldemort is dead, and I can’t help but think that it’s somehow all related back to this prophecy…I always had this gut feeling it referred more to Harry than Neville and—“

“James, don’t do this to your self.”

Harry cinched his eyes shut. _‘Please, dad, don’t…’_

But his dad didn’t listen. “What if I failed to protect it? What if I failed and Harry somehow got tied up in some sort of destiny?”

“You don’t _believe_ in destinies.”

“What if Harry knows I failed him? What if he resents me for it and that’s why he’s not coming to us?”

“James, _please_.”

“Or worse yet, what if that prophecy had given me hope as well? What if I had turned him over to Albus and he was trained in order to—“

“Stop it! We would never do that. How can you say such a thing?”

“Because I don’t know!” His dad cried out. “Because we just don’t know. Harry is more powerful than our Harry. His magic is different. You saw Sirius’s memory, and then there’s that bloody Patronus. A stag of all things that wandered all over the English countryside like it was nothing! _Something_ happened to make that possible.”

“Yes, _something_ , not necessarily us, so please for the love of Merlin, stop doing this to your self.”

Harry’s dad let out a choked sort of laugh. “But that’s just it,” he said brokenly. “I can’t. No matter how hard I try I just keep coming back to the same thoughts over and over again. And Lily, I’m terrified. I am so terrified because what if we had it all wrong? What if Albus hadn’t actually been the one to trigger that Seer?”

“James,” Harry’s mum pleaded then. “I am begging you.”

“No, that’s not fair. You asked. You asked me what was wrong. You asked me why I could barely look at Harry and this is it, Lily.  And I can see it in your eyes—you’re just as terrified because you’re thinking it as well.”

“No…”

“But you are. You’re thinking that maybe, just maybe Voldemort was meant to hear that prophecy. Why else would that Seer prophesize something so important when Albus was being spied on? And if that’s the case, how am I not to think, now knowing what I do, that my actions haven’t ruined this world’s only known chance of defeating him?—Because that’s how I feel right now, Lily. That I have doomed the rest of this world by protecting my son.”

Harry’s breathing hitched and suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore. The enormity of the world seemed to slip around his shoulders with his father’s last words because he finally understood—really and truly understood.

“But that just can’t be true,” Harry’s mum said tearfully.

But it was true.

Harry didn’t know what had happened in this other world, but it didn’t matter because Harry could feel with every ounce of his being that his father’s fears were correct.

He had been meant to destroy Lord Voldemort. 

And because he hadn’t, this other Harry had been called from this other world to do it for him…

It was no wonder that his counterpart wanted nothing to do with him. Harry couldn’t blame him for a second and he couldn’t take finally knowing the truth—he couldn’t handle finally knowing the reason _why_. He had to get out of there.

He stood, right in front of the kitchen window, and immediately his mother screamed.

“Whoa, Harry, wait,” Jude said. He tried to grab Harry’s arm but Harry batted him away.

Then he took off, running as fast as he could, ignoring his mother’s cries of alarm and his father’s pleas for him to wait. He ran until his lungs burned, but even that wasn’t enough to numb the pain coursing through him, so he closed his eyes, thought of the vast grey skies, and he flew.

Transforming had its desired effects. The panic nipping at his skin ebbed away as he expanded his black feathered wings. The chill of dread was instantly replaced by the coolness of the wind…

And so he flew. He flew right over the Quidditch pitch and past the Manor’s borders. He flew over the nearby town of Godric’s Hollow and he flew because he didn’t know what else to do…

And yet, despite his new form, he could still hear his father’s voice tormenting him over and over again…

_‘You weren’t meant to be protected…’_

Transforming had dulled the physical pain he’d been feeling, but it did nothing for his mind…

_‘You were meant to save us…’_

And it wasn’t long before being alone in the sky with his thoughts was _unbearable_.

He swooped down beneath the clouds and touched down in a small forest clearing, desperate to find company—anyone to distract him away from his thoughts. He checked his pocket watch once in human form again and mercifully, found it was twenty minutes till one—the time he’d agreed to meet Neville and the girls for lunch. He apparated to Tinsworth, not caring he was early and numbly walked down the main road towards The Tickled Toad, the pub Hannah had chosen for them to meet.

Once inside, Harry ordered a much needed Firewhiskey and slid into an empty booth. He nursed the amber liquid and traced the oak grain of the table with his finger, attempting to distract himself as he waited…

_‘You were meant to save us…’_

It didn’t really work. He gulped the rest of his Firewhiskey down and was seriously contemplating ordering another when Neville showed up. He was a few minutes early as well—typical for him—and Harry knew in an instant that coming there may have been the stupidest thing he could have done. 

_Him_ or Neville…

“You look like shite, mate.”

Neville greeted him with a frown and Harry forced a smile. What had he been thinking…?

“I’m fine,” Harry lied.

Neville eyed Harry’s empty glass as he slid into the opposite side of the booth. “What happened? This isn’t about what we talked about at the meeting, is it?”

Harry shook his head. _Him_ or Neville…

“Then what is it?” Neville asked, growing more concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Harry stared at his best mate. He wanted to unleash everything—from Malfoy and Lovegood to Fawkes to his counterpart’s vague letter and to the prophecy…one of their supposed destinies—but he just couldn’t. He didn’t know how, but mostly he didn’t want Neville to experience the same sickening dread he was currently feeling.

Not when it didn’t matter anyway…

“I’m fine, really. I just need the loo.”

Neville obviously didn’t like Harry’s answer, but he didn’t argue.

Grateful, Harry excused himself and quickly made his way towards the back hall, purposely ignoring Neville’s worried gaze as he went. He didn’t know what to do. Being alone had been torture, being with Neville hadn’t been much better, and being home with his parents was out of the question…

_‘You were meant to save us…’_

Harry pushed the loo door open, more desperate than ever. He had to get him self together. He just needed to collect his thoughts and…then he laughed because no, what he needed was to rip every thought from his head. His thoughts—all of the questions and uncertainty—everything about his bloody counterpart and the recent knowledge of how Harry hadn’t lived up to him…He had to escape it and he didn’t know how…

He then caught his reflection in the mirror over the sink. He looked awful—pale and trembling—and every part of himself—his eyes, his glasses, his hair—seemed to taunt him.

He could have been Voldemort’s equal.

He could have been so much more…

_‘You were meant to save us…’_

Harry swiped off his glasses, unwilling to look at himself any longer, and approached the sink. He then lowered his head, fumbled with the tap, and splashed his face with water. He splashed his face again and again and again, trying to wash his thoughts away.  He splashed his face until he heard the door swing open behind him…

Embarrassed, he immediately turned off the tap, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up.  He did not want to know who had intruded on his moment of vulnerability.  He ran a hand through his short wet fringe and hoped to Merlin this bloke would just enter a stall with no questions asked. He realized he wasn’t going to be so lucky when he heard the main door lock.  He knew then what was going on.

“Neville,” he began warily, sliding his glasses back on his still wet face. “I swear, I’m—“

Then he stopped because the person he was looking at in the reflection of the mirror was not Neville. It was a complete stranger.

A complete stranger who had just locked himself in the loo with Harry…

_Keep your eyes open._

Harry spun around, all thoughts of self-pity forgotten. The bloke was young, probably around Harry’s age, but there was something about him. His dark eyes bore into him, sending a chill up Harry’s spine. He slid his hand into his pocket, reaching for his wand, but he found it inexplicably—frighteningly—empty. The man smirked and held up his right hand. He had Harry’s wand and a wand of his own.

“You know, Harry,” the man started conversationally, twirling the two wands between his fingers tips, “I didn’t think you’d make it this easy for me.”

“Who are you?” Harry demanded. “What do you want from me?”

The man studied Harry’s wand, stroking its length between two fingers. “Lord Voldemort keeps a close eye on his enemies and you, Harry, have gained his interest.”

Harry swallowed, trying to control his fear. “So who are you then? One of his little followers? Too scared to take me on in public then?”

The man smiled up at him. “I’m much more than a follower, Harry.”

Harry stared, initially confused, but then it clicked into place. It was as clear as the knocking on the door.

“Harry? Harry, are you in there?”

It was Susan. She had arrived and had come looking for him, and Harry had never been so unhappy to hear her voice over Neville’s…

“Harry?” she called out again. Then the door handle began to jiggle goading Harry into speech.

“Yes!” He desperately wanted to cry out for help. He was trapped and wandless with Voldemort’s  _son_ —all of those ridiculous rumors had been true—but he couldn’t drag Susan into this. “Yes, I’m in here. I just need another minute.”

The man eyed him amusedly as Harry waited for Susan’s response. It finally came moments later. Her voice was soft and muffled by the door. “Harry, what’s going on? I’ve never seen Neville so worried.”

“I know,” Harry said, averting his eyes to the floor, desperate to avoid the man’s gaze. “I’ll explain everything—I just need another minute."

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

Harry closed his eyes, willing her retreat and when he finally heard it, relief and dread filled him at once.

“How touching,” the man said moments later.

Harry glared up at him.

“She was so excited to see you, by the way,” he continued casually. “You should have heard her tell me all about her wonderful boyfriend and how she just couldn’t wait to have lunch with him at The Tickled Toad.”

Harry was seething now. “So you’re Voldemort’s son then?” He snapped. “Is that what you were trying to tell me?”

The man eyed him before returning to his study of Harry’s wand. It was then that Harry distantly noted that both wands were made from holly.

“Yes,” the man answered, sounding both bored and bitter now. “I’m the long lost rumored son.” He pocketed Harry’s wand and pointed his own directly at Harry’s chest. “Most people,” he added with a sneer, “know me as Tom.”

_Tom…_

And something besides fear flickered through Harry as he stared down the end of Tom’s wand _—_ it was annoyance _._ His counterpart had known this would happen and he had sent Harry the most worthless warning ever.

_And stay away from Tom…_  

And that knowledge—that this could have all been prevented by his bloody counterpart—was Harry’s last thought before there was a flash of crimson light and his mind succumbed to darkness. 


	15. Destined Paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my resolutions this year was to finally get the next chapter of this story out. It feels so good that it's happening. Thank you for all of the kind words and nudges.

_I just ran into Tom. Have you seen him recently? It was amazing. I’d swear he hasn’t aged a day since he left Hogwarts. Do you have any idea how he does it?_

_-H_

Albus was frowning. He had been frowning since he had first read this strange note only minutes before. It was clear who it was from and truth be told he was rather impressed by its subtly…

And yet, he was also curious—beyond curious about its true meaning. He had heard several accounts—from his spy, no less—that Voldemort’s son bore a remarkable resemblance to the Dark Lord.

But now…

Now Albus’ mind was spinning. He had always questioned Voldemort’s desire for a child and now after reading what sounded like absolute certainty Albus wondered if they had been led astray.

He had some thinking to do, but he couldn’t help but also smile then. It seemed a one Mr. Harry Potter wasn’t such a lost cause after all.

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

The next morning, on Saturday, that particular Harry Potter woke abruptly inside his tent still located in the Forest of Dean…

_I’ve always felt it, but now I know…_

He had been awoken by a dream—the same dream which had tortured him over and over throughout the night…

_We’ve always been alike, you and I…_

It had been a dream about him and Tom Riddle…

_I never needed my parents either…_

But now, as Harry stared at the canvas roof above him, he wondered if it had been his dream which had jolted him awake or the heated debate which was currently going on outside of the tent.

“I am not overreacting!”

“But you are, Granger,” Malfoy retorted. “I get the need for the disguises and for staying in pairs at all times, but limiting ourselves to the Muggle world? It’s unnecessary.”

“Tom. Riddle.” Hermione argued slowly. “Harry ran into _Voldemort_ last night. This is not negotiable.”

Harry winced. Telling the others about his encounter with Riddle the night before had not been fun. Ron had thought he’d been joking at first— _that’s a good one, mate_ —but once everyone realized Harry had indeed not been joking, there had been a panicked uproar in their small alcove of the library.

Thank Merlin for Hermione’s privacy charms.

“Yes, I remember,” Malfoy said, “and I still maintain my position. You’re overreacting. Potter was _disguised_.”

“And besides,” Zabini added, “I think you’re forgetting what Potter’s encounter truly was—a coincidence. A bloody weird one, yes, but a coincidence nonetheless.”

“There is no such thing as a coincidence when it comes to Harry and that man!” Hermione said fiercely.

“She’s right you know,” Ron added.

“There’s something Harry’s not telling us,” Hermione said. “I promise you that.”

Harry winced again because Hermione’s suspicions, per usual, were correct. While he had told everyone about his unfortunate encounter, he hadn’t shared his bizarre reaction to both Riddle and the diadem. Ron and Hermione had already been so freaked out; he hadn’t had it in him to confess he was also somehow linked to this world’s Voldemort as well…

And besides, Harry was currently hoping it wouldn’t matter anyway. Not when they were only trying to work a way home.

“And what exactly is it you think Potter’s hiding?” Malfoy asked.

Not wanting to hear Hermione’s thoughts on the matter, Harry decided it was time to join in. “Nothing,” he said loudly, sitting up in bed. “I’m hiding nothing.”

Silence met his words then Hermione’s head popped through the front flap of the tent.

“Harry,” she said, her cheeks were pink. “You’re awake.”

“That I am.” He smiled at her then in hopes she would understand that he wasn’t upset. She exhaled and smiled in return. “What time is it?” He added, slipping on his shoes.

“Quarter past nine. We were just discussing possible…rules in order to keep group safe.”

Harry nodded, knowing this had been coming. He followed Hermione out of the tent and for the next several minutes, helped work out the finer details of these so-called rules.

Never wander off alone. Always stay in disguise. And unless strictly necessary, stick to the Muggle world.

The rules didn’t necessarily appeal to Harry and he understood Malfoy’s point about the last one, but he also knew these rules, each and every one of them, were necessary. His encounter with Riddle had truly shaken him and he had no desire for a repeat, and so for the next several days, Harry followed these rules religiously.

And sure enough for the next several days the group remained encounter free—no Riddle, no Voldemort, and no Order.

This meant the group was finally able to get their bearings.  They finished scanning old issues of _The Daily Prophet_. They bought a new wand for Ron since Dumbledore never returned his other one. But mostly, the group spent their time in Muggle London hovered over books, hoping to find a way home.

Later on, Harry would look back on this weekend and laugh.  It wasn’t because it wasn’t necessary; it was—especially for Hermione.  Accepting their plight—their inevitable involvement in this world—needed to happen slowly and only after searching for other options. Instead, Harry would laugh because the irony of it all. He would laugh over the fact that they had been searching for a way home—for a way to leave this world as it was—in a place that so clearly needed help…

The Muggle world.

Because while Diagon Alley and its magical patrons gave off feelings of normalcy, Muggle London never did.  The group could barely walk a block without seeing windows boarded up. Few Muggles actually took to the streets and the ones who did were distant and jumpy. Unsolved murders filled the newspapers. And then there were the wards. If Harry had to guess, he would say the wards were the Order’s doing. Who else would ward Muggles against wizards and witches? Either way, it made travelling through London interesting and incidentally also provided the group assurance that they wouldn’t be found easily by their magical peers…

And yet, the wards were also a constant reminder of what was truly going on…

“They’re not your responsibility,” Ron told him sternly on Monday morning.

By then, Harry had taken to looking out whatever window they were sitting by and watching the Muggles walk by instead of reading whatever book was in front of him.

“I know,” he said, looking away.

“Do you?” Zabini asked. When Harry didn’t respond, he continued. “Look Potter, I know it’s a mess out there, but—“

“But that’s just it!” Harry said, finally snapping. “How is this possible?” He pointed out the window. “How is it that I have to spend my morning listening to a conspiracy theory some cabbie has about a green death ray when two days ago we walked down Diagon Alley and bought Ron a new wand without any problems whatsoever?”

“I was always against us coming here,” Malfoy said, flipping a page in his book.

“Malfoy,” Hermione said warningly.

“What? It was a terrible idea. Just look what it’s doing to him!”

“I’m right here, you know,” Harry said, annoyed.

“It’s safer here for us,” Hermione explained, ignoring Harry. “You know I’m right. The very reason _this_ ,” she gestured out the window, “is possible is the same reason we’re safe here. Wizards don’t spend time in the Muggle world. They always have been and remain shockingly oblivious to its happenings. Couple that with the fact that _The Prophet_ no longer prints actual news and it’s even worse.”

“Well then,” Malfoy said, flipping yet another page, “I’ll just hope we don’t get hit by one of those green death raids then.”

“Ray,” Hermione said, closing her eyes. “Green. Death. _Ray_.  And that’s why we go back to the tent before dark. And why we stay in a group—“

“Minus Lovegood though, right?”

“And the wards,” Hermione said forcefully, pointing her finger at Malfoy.

“Oh the wards which ward against _us_ as well? The ones that make us sleepy or confused or hungry or wanting to go home when we have no home to go to? Those wards?”

“We have been able to work through them—all of them—as a group,” Hermione explained patiently. “Most people don’t have the benefit of walking around in a large group where each ward affects them—oh why am I even explaining this to you?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself,” Ron said, glaring at Malfoy.

“We’ve been through all this,” Hermione said, sighing. “And you’re right, there are risks, but seeing as our only other viable option is being cooped up in the tent, I am willing to take them.”

“Hear, hear,” Ron muttered.

“And Harry,” she added, causing Harry to look at her.  “You’re not the only one who’s bothered by all of this. Trust me, it’s…it’s horrible, but we can’t allow ourselves to lose focus over it. We don’t belong here and we can’t afford to forget that.”

Harry stared at Hermione for a long few moments before looking back out the window. “If we don’t belong here,” he said, “then why are we here?”

It had been something that had been niggling at Harry for days and it felt good to finally voice it out loud.

“Harry, I don’t know, but—“

“You said so yourself, Hermione—back in the forest. There’s no such thing as a coincidence, not when it involves me.”

Hermione laughed once. “I was talking about you and Voldemort. Not about coming to this world.”

“But isn’t that the same thing?” He asked, turning back to her. “He’s alive in this world. And I defeated him back home. How else am I supposed to see this?”

Hermione smiled sadly at him before exchanging a brief look with Ron. “We were always going to go down this road, weren’t we?”

Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to go down this road, but he didn’t see how he had any other choice.  There was no obvious way home in any of the books they had read nor could he stomach leaving this world in the shape it was in. Then there was his connection to Riddle and the diadem…He couldn’t stop thinking about it and wondering what it meant…

“Can we at least talk to Luna first?” Hermione said, looking defeated. “To see if she and her mother found anything? Can you at least do that for me?”

Harry nodded. There were plans already in place to meet up with Luna at The Leaky Cauldron later on that day. He was okay with putting off the inevitable for a few more hours.

As for Luna, she was the one exception to all their rules. She had a voiced a desire to stay with her family of this world and while Harry would have preferred to keep the group together, he didn’t feel he had the right to deny her of her wishes—not when he understood them so acutely.

And besides, it turned out to be for the best. Selene Lovegood had access to the WIRA library that the group did not and she agreed to help them. Furthermore, having Luna stay with her parents helped convince them to keep their knowledge of the group a secret.  Before then, Harry had worried the Lovegoods would somehow be the ones to give them away, but all it took was a quick explanation of Voldemort and the Order and Harry didn’t have to worry any longer.

He knew the Lovegoods would keep Luna safe.

Since then, Harry had kept up with Luna via the coin every few hours—it had been charmed so only she could read or use it, but now that a few days had passed, they both agreed they needed to meet up in person.

And when the time finally came a couple of hours later, Harry was beyond relieved. Time had crawled by slowly since his outburst.  He was ready for a change of scenery—for a change in company, so when Hermione suggested that only he and Ron pick up Luna, Harry readily agreed. He would have preferred to be alone, but seeing as that wasn’t an option, being only with Ron was the next best thing…

“We’ll figure this out, you’ll see,” Ron said once they were outside and alone.

Harry gave Ron a sidelong look. He had been hoping for a quiet journey—hence why Ron was his preferred company. Yet, Ron was flicking a quick _Muffliato_ over them indicating it was going to be anything but…

“I mean, yes, this world is complete shite,” Ron continued. “I’m some tosser. Hermione is dead. The Muggles are clearly scared out of their minds, but this is hardly fair to us. What about that? Surely there are loads of worlds where You-Know-Who was never defeated. Are we just expected to fix them all? Where’s the sense in that?”

“I never said it made sense,” Harry said quietly. “Can we drop this though? I just want to find Luna.”

Ron gave him an apologetic look. “I hate putting you on the spot like this, mate, I really do, but I promised Hermione.”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and stared after Ron. “You two planned this,” he said in realization. “We’ve known we were meeting up with Luna since last night.”

Ron turned around, his expression serious. “You’ve been talking in your sleep.”

Harry blinked in surprise. Then he felt the heat crawl up his face.

“And we—that is Hermione and I haven’t been the only ones who’ve noticed. Zabini and Malfoy are getting awfully curious.”

Harry swallowed. Ron didn’t need to spell out the implications. He knew he only talked in his sleep when he was being tormented in his dreams by Voldemort.

And since Harry had defeated him back home, Voldemort was mostly absent from his dreams…

Until now that was…

Harry still wasn’t sleeping well.

“We’ve been able to hold them off,” Ron continued, “but I don’t know how long that’s going to last. You know how Malfoy is—though I can’t say I particularly blame him on this one. Not when it’s so obvious that there’s something you’re not telling us.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief, anger pushing aside his embarrassment. “I already told you lot that there’s nothing,” he said, walking past Ron.

“Yeah and we let it go,” Ron said, following behind. “We felt guilty…but now things are different.”

Harry quickened his pace. The alleyway the group had deemed safe to Apparate to and from was still a block away.  He had thought he had gotten out of this conversation and he still had no desire to have it. 

“Why?” He challenged heatedly. “Because I’m talking in my sleep? I think I’ve earned the right to be a little freaked out after running into my mortal enemy’s counterpart.”

“Of course,” Ron said. “And if that’s all I thought this was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. We’re having it because you seem to think you owe this world something.”

“I never said—“

“Harry, listen to me. It’s been obvious for awhile now. You haven’t been yourself and you haven’t exactly been enthusiastic about finding a way home.”

“That’s not fair, just because I don’t think we’re going to find a way home in those books doesn’t mean I don’t want it to happen.”

“Maybe, but let me ask you this. If Fawkes appeared right now, right in front of us and offered to take us home, would you? Would you leave here?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That’s not going to happen, Ron.”

“And why not?” Ron retorted. “You’re the one who’s convinced Fawkes brought us here—you and Luna and Zabini. Maybe we _are_ going about this the wrong way. Maybe we need to be storming Dumbledore’s office and demanding that Fawkes bring us back.”

Harry sighed, wary.

“But let me guess,” Ron continued, “that’s not going to happen either because you don’t think it would work.”

“No I don’t,” Harry conceded.

“I don’t get it, Harry. Help me understand. What changed? A few days ago I witnessed you tell Dumbledore that you didn’t want to get involved.  You pushed away your parents for the same reason. And I know for a fact that you thought that phoenix story was complete bollocks when you first heard it.”

Harry nodded. It was all true…except for the bit about his parents. It was more than not getting involved; he also had to protect them…

“And now you’re acting like another Prophecy has been handed out to you.” Harry winced at Ron’s words. “And since you seem like you need to hear it, Fawkes bringing us to this world doesn’t mean a damn thing. Hell, I don’t care if there _were_ another Prophecy, it still wouldn’t matter. Do you know why? Because you didn’t defeat Voldemort because of a Prophecy, Harry. You defeated him because he killed your parents.”

Harry swallowed.

“You defeated him because the bastard wouldn’t leave you alone, because he was ruining _our_ world, and because you had that bloody awful connection with him. The Prophecy didn’t matter in the end because you would have gone after him anyway. And none of these reasons exist in this world.”

They had finally reached the alleyway, but neither of them made a move to Apparate. Ron’s words had given Harry a new sense of clarity and he knew what he had to do.

“You’re right,” he said.

Ron looked stunned. “I am?” Then he laughed. “Merlin, Hermione had me convinced you’d be impossible to talk sense into. She still thinks something happened with Riddle that you weren’t telling us and—“ Ron stopped as he caught sight of Harry’s expression. “Harry? She is wrong, isn’t she?”

Harry shook his head.  “Something did happen—not just with Riddle, but with the diadem too. I…” he hesitated. Ron already looked horrified and Harry couldn’t bear to look at him. He dropped his gaze to the ground and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what it was exactly, but I definitely felt something.”

“What are you saying? The Horcrux, it…oh shit, your dreams—”

Harry shook his head again. “It’s different than before. I’m actually pretty sure that I’m talking in my sleep because I _am_ so freaked out because it wasn’t a mental connection. It was more of a physical one. I didn’t feel it until I grabbed the diadem or until Riddle grabbed my shoulder.”

“He touched you?” Ron said indignantly.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, and Ron,” he said, looking back up. “I know he felt it too and it wasn’t like it was back home with the Horcrux. I didn’t feel scared or angry or unsure of myself like I did when wearing that necklace. It was…it felt nice. It calmed me down. It made me feel…” complete, though Harry couldn’t quite say that last word out loud.

Ron looked like he was going to be sick. “Harry,” he said slowly. “I know what I said about the Prophecy and having reasons and having a connection to You-Know-Who, but this connection…it still doesn’t mean anything, okay? If anything it means we need to get out of this world as fast as bloody possible.”

Harry smiled briefly. “Don’t worry. I don’t want to stay here because Voldemort makes me happy.”

Ron grimaced.

“I want to stay because you were right. I really meant that. I didn’t destroy Voldemort because of the Prophecy. I did so because I wanted to…and I _want_ to help this world. It just took awhile to realize that—it took running into Riddle and listening to you.”

“Harry…” Ron begun, sounding pained.

“Listen. If I hadn’t been there with your counterpart the other day, he would’ve been Kissed. There were dementors everywhere and your dad made it pretty clear that it was nothing unusual.”

“Yeah, but still—“

“Then there’s Dumbledore, he practically begged us to help and since when does Dumbledore beg?”

Ron sighed, but said nothing.

“And the Muggles, they’re just like you said, clearly scared out of their minds. And Riddle! I’m convinced he’s from the diary. It’s the only thing that makes sense. And if he’s comfortable enough walking around Diagon and going by Tom, it’s obvious that he doesn’t think anyone knows about his Horcruxes. I’ve already sent Dumbledore a letter, clueing him in.”

“Of course you have,” Ron said, shaking his head.

“I had to,” Harry said. “I didn’t say much, but… Look, I’m not saying we have to defeat Voldemort…I just, well we can help, can’t we?—from the sidelines? And if it also helps us then it’s a win-win. We’ll be back home and I’ll be able to sleep at night knowing we didn’t leave this world a complete mess.”

Ron was still shaking his head. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”

“’Fraid not,” Harry said ruefully.

Ron sighed again. “I guess the only thing left to do then is to help you convince the others.”

“Really?” Harry said, a smile forming.

“Hermione won’t be happy, of course, but she’ll come around. Luna and Zabini—they shouldn’t be too hard seeing as they already believe that ruddy story. And Malfoy, well, he’ll be outnumbered, won’t he? He’ll have no choice.”

Harry’s smile widened, he was grateful. The burden he had been feeling the past few days already seemed to be lifting. He no longer felt confused and he no longer felt trapped.

“Just…promise me one thing,” Ron said then. “Promise me you won’t go off hunting for Horcruxes, not when you…”

“I promise,” Harry said sincerely. “Trust me. I don’t want to get anywhere near those things.”

Ron exhaled, relieved. “Good. That’s…I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I know.”

Ron smiled minutely, and then he clapped his hands together, dissipating any tension left between them. “Should we go find Luna then and tell her the good news? Poor Hermione has been stuck with Zabini and Malfoy for far too long.”

Harry held out his arm for Ron to grab. “I don’t know,” he said, his tone teasing. “Knowing her, I’m almost more worried about them.”

“Oi,” Ron said, grabbing Harry’s arm. “That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.”

“Yeah and remind me sometime to give you shit for carrying that Deluminator around in case you two lovebirds ever got separated.”

Ron flushed, turning a deep shade of scarlet. “Shut up, Harry.”

Harry laughed, feeling even lighter than before, and Apparated them away.

Once inside The Leaky Cauldron, Harry spotted Luna right away. She was waving at them from the booth closest to the Apparition point, the table where they had agreed to meet. Her hair was blue, she was wearing several shawls, and her fingers were covered in rings. Her disguise reminded Harry of a blue-haired Trelawney.

“Merlin,” Ron muttered next to him.

Harry, however, thought it was perfect. He approached Luna with a grin, happy to see her, but as he neared the booth, he couldn’t help but be taken aback by her own expression—she clearly did not share his happiness. He greeted her uncertainly as Ron recast another _Muffliato_ to include her.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Before I can say hello,” she said seriously. “I have a message from my mother: She’s not very happy with you.”

Harry groaned. “Come on, Luna. Not you too. I’ve already had an earful from Ron today.”

Luna’s expression softened and she looked curiously towards Ron.

“He sure did,” Ron said. “Harry’s decided to take pity on this world and I wasn’t too thrilled to hear it.”

“Oh, but that’s wonderful!” Luna said, her face lighting up. “I knew you’d figure it out, Harry.”

Harry smiled uncertainly as Ron grumbled next to him.

“You could at least _pretend_ to be surprised. It would make me feel better at least.”

“But why?” Luna responded with her head cocked to the side. “You’ve known as well. All of us have. Fawkes wouldn’t have brought us here if we hadn’t been willing to help. Phoenixes aren’t dark creatures, after all.”

Ron opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it because he promptly closed it. He shared a baffled look with Harry instead and Harry decided to change the subject because he really did not want to examine Luna’s line of reasoning.

“What’s your mother upset about?” He asked.

“Oh!” Luna said, adopting a serious look again. “I knew I’d forget. We had visitors on Saturday. Your dad and the other Harry came looking for you.”

“ _What_?”

“Erm…Luna,” Ron said, eyeing Harry nervously. “I think that might have been something you should’ve told us…uh, before now.”

“I did consider it,” Luna replied, “but I didn’t want to worry anyone. Mum handled it just fine.”

Harry palmed his face, trying not to imagine it. He had asked the Lovegoods to keep their knowledge of the group a secret—including from the Potters. It was the best thing for everyone, but he honestly felt like he was just being overly precautious. He didn’t think anything would actually come of it…

But bloody hell, his dad and counterpart…were they out of their minds…?

“She did it just like you told her to,” Luna continued. “She told them they were crazy, pretended to be offended, and slammed the door in their faces.” Harry winced—he had been half _joking_ when he had said that. “That being said, mum’s never been fond of lying. She’s not very happy about it.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, sheepish. “I…I don’t know what to say. I never thought…I can’t believe they actually came looking.”

“They care about you, Harry. Why wouldn’t they?”

Harry winced again. “It’s just…it’s better this way—easier.”

Luna frowned.  “Since when do you do what’s easier?”

Her words seemed to punch him in the gut. He looked away, unable to endure her disappointment any longer. Fortunately, Ron decided to come to his rescue.

“We should go,” he said, nudging Harry’s side. “Tom’s watching and he doesn’t look pleased.”

“I bet,” Harry muttered. “You should have heard him tell me off the other day. Not that I looked like this, mind you, but…come on, Luna.”

They made their way to the Apparition point. Both Luna and Ron grabbed Harry’s arm and he Apparated them back to the alleyway. Once there though, Luna continued the conversation, much to Harry’s dismay.

“There’s something else you need to know, Harry. Something I only found out this morning…”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, somewhat nervously.

“My mum works with the other Harry. She didn’t tell us before because she was worried you wouldn’t let me stay with them if you knew.”

Harry frowned, both at the information and at the correct assumption on Selene’s part.

“She wanted me to tell you though, that despite being extremely upset with you that you don’t have to worry. She’s decided not to go into work this week.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered. “Your mum really knows how to—wait, are you saying this other Harry works at that old research institute?”

Luna nodded. “He’s a spellsmith like mum.”

Ron pulled a face. “That sounds…”

“Dreadful,” Harry finished for him. He too was just putting together the pieces and he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to spend his life behind a desk, researching spells of all things.

Ron pulled another face. “Just wait ‘til Hermione hears this.”

Harry groaned. “She doesn’t have to know.”

“No such luck, mate. I’m just happy it’s not me.”

“Some friend you are,” Harry said. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

“Mum thinks you’d be brilliant at it,” Luna chimed in. “I was telling her about some of your adventures. She says you sound wonderfully creative.”

“Oh?”

Luna nodded. “She finds it fascinating because the other Harry mostly keeps to himself at work. She says he seems stressed out most of the time.”

“That sounds about right actually,” Ron said.

Harry decided to ignore Ron and get back to the matter at hand. “Surely she doesn’t have to miss work though?” He said. “Won’t that look a little suspicious?”

“I don’t think so,” Luna said thoughtfully. “She was more worried about the prospect of having to lie everyday. She’s hoping you’ll change your mind by the end of the week. Besides,” she added brightly, “it means I’ll be able to spend more time with her. She’s been teaching me how to properly brew ginger. Daddy will be so pleased. Her ginger tea was always his favorite.”

“Right,” Harry said awkwardly, torn between guilt and amusement. He still wasn’t completely convinced, but it was hard to argue with Luna when she looked so happy. “I suppose it does make me feel better.”

And the thing was it really _did_ make him feel better. He felt guilty beyond words for putting Selene Lovegood in an uncomfortable position, but he also felt relieved knowing she wouldn’t be seeing his counterpart for the rest of the week because as much as Harry wanted to help this world, he still wanted to stay far away from his parents and counterpart…

It was like he had said to Ron. He wanted to help from the _sidelines_.

The three of them fell into a comfortable silence then. They had already left the alleyway and begun heading back to the café where Ron and him had left the others. Harry looked around, taking in the Muggle world, finally able to wonder how he was going to help this world…

He had sent that letter to Dumbledore. He had spent many moments over the weekend regretting it, but now he wondered what Dumbledore had made of it…

Did Dumbledore already know about Tom? Or had Harry truly clued him in that something else was going on?  He wished he could have been more explicit, but he didn’t know how secure the post owl system was…

The more Harry thought about it though, the more he was convinced that Voldemort’s method of immortality was a mystery to the Order. It was the only thing that made sense to him and it worried him to no end because he really meant what he had promised Ron earlier. He had no desire to encounter any of the Horcruxes again. As far he was concerned, destroying the Horcruxes needed to be Dumbledore’s job. He was _alive_ in this world…instead the question was how to convey this information securely without going to Dumbledore directly…

And yet, Harry knew deep down that the Horcruxes and even Voldemort were the least of this world’s worries…

This world had already been infiltrated by Voldemort and his ideals…The Daily Prophet and likely the Ministry too had been taken over…Dementors roamed the country-side…Muggleborns were no longer welcome or even worse, dead…And then there was a heavy air of despair amongst the Muggles—one that was difficult to shake…

And Voldemort had managed it all without most of the world even knowing he was alive…

Harry shuddered. How was he supposed to fix a world by ridding it on an evil only a handful of people knew still existed…?

One that remained firmly in the shadows…

He had no idea…

Harry was pulled out of his spiral of thoughts by Luna. She had grasped his hand and squeezed it. “Harry,” she said quietly. “There are two wizards behind us.”

Harry, sensing Luna’s unease, resisted the urge to look behind him. Ron though, didn’t share his same sense, he craned his head around.

“I don’t know,” he said, turning his head back around. “They look like Muggles to me. There are a lot of wards around these parts that put funny ideas in your head. Maybe we’re getting close to one?”

Luna let go of Harry’s hand. “One of them tried to enter my mind.”

Harry’s heart quickened and then he felt it too. Something was pushing at the back of his mind, wanting in, and it wasn’t like Riddle’s subtle gentle approach. Whoever was doing this wanted their presence known—they were looking for a fight.

Harry shoved right back.

“Ron,” Harry said urgently. “Luna’s right. I just felt it too. Close your mind.”

“What do you—“ Ron began, but then he cried out in pain. His eyes were cinched shut and Harry knew what was happening. Panicked, Harry turned around with his wand readied. Ron’s Occlumency skills were only shaky at best…

“What do you want from us,” Harry shouted angrily. He had flicked away Ron’s _Muffliato_.

The two wizards grinned in unison. They were a few yards away and slowed their approach. Their wands were readied as well, but that was the only thing that gave them away. Ron was right. Unlike most wizards and witches who dressed up as Muggles, these two wizards actually managed it. Harry shuddered at the implications…

“There has been an increase in magical activity in this area over the past few days,” the older of the two wizards said. Harry didn’t recognize either of them. “It is our job to see why.”

Harry cursed to himself. He didn’t know how their magic had been traced, but he should have known that hiding in the Muggle world was too good to be true. And yet…

“No one saw us,” Harry said. “What gives you the right to go poking around in our heads?”

“Clause four of the Code of Casting in Non-Magical Regions,” the younger wizard replied. “Trained ministry personnel have the right to use any means necessary to discover the caster’s intentions.”

“What kind of rubbish law is that?” Ron said incredulously.

“It was created to ensure the safety of our world,” the older wizard replied coolly. “Muggles and those who choose to interact with them impose a great risk to our future. Something which any self-respecting witch or wizard knows.”

Harry was speechless. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The prejudice nature of this world’s wizarding laws was overwhelming and this was just another example to add to the list. But more importantly, these two men were from the Ministry and Harry could not afford to be questioned or captured by them…

“So tell me,” the older wizard continued, “what is your business with these Muggles?”

Harry didn’t say anything. He knew there were Muggles watching, he could feel their curious eyes on them, but he didn’t care. He needed magic to save him and his friends…

He sliced his wand upwards, producing a shield to protect his friends. Then he Apparated, directly behind the two wizards and Stunned them with two quick jabs.

Behind the shield, Luna and Ron were staring at him in surprise.

“Harry,” Ron said weakly as Harry waved the shield away. “The Muggles…”

There were indeed Muggles watching.  He could see several faces between the curtains of windows. A small group had stopped across the street. A woman had even screamed…

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said dismissively, approaching the two men.  He examined them and pocketed their wands. “We need to move quickly before the Obliviators come. Do either of you recognize them?”

Luna shook her head. Ron shrugged.

“He looks familiar,” Ron said, pointing towards the older one, “but I couldn’t give you a name. Malfoy would probably know.”

“Right,” Harry said, standing. He pointed his wand at the two wizards again and shot off another spell—Obliviating their minds of their encounter.

“We should go,” Luna said. “That spell isn’t going to do much good. Everyone’s still watching.”

Harry sighed. She was right. Then again, he had only wanted to escape. Having to change their disguises was only a minor inconvenience at best. He was about to leave—about to return to the rest of the group when something stopped him. Maybe it was Luna’s last words…or maybe it was seeing the scared faces of the Muggles for himself…

But a thought occurred to him—a thought of how he could help…

He bent back over the two wizards and pushed up the left sleeves of their robes.  The younger wizard’s arm was unblemished, but the arm of the older wizard was a different story. On it was a familiar mark—a mark that should have been faded if Voldemort had been truly dead.

“Of course,” Ron muttered in disgust.

Harry only nodded. He worked quickly, magically tearing off the offending sleeve. He then bound the two men together, placed a small ward around them to ensure no Muggles would disturb them, and placed a note on the older man’s chest.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

**~sSsSsSsSsSsSsSs~**

Confusion overwhelmed Harry as he slowly came to. His head was throbbing, the surface beneath him was cold and hard, and he could hear a man speaking somewhere nearby.

“…You must forget about this Vernon. We must go forward as planned.”

_‘Vernon,’_ Harry thought groggily, trying to open his eyes. He had an uncle named Vernon…

“But you did not feel this man’s power,” a second—more familiar sounding man argued. “You did not—“

“Silence,” the first man hissed. “Our young guest has awoken.”

Then Harry felt his body lift off the ground and as it did, so did Harry’s confusion. His afternoon, day, weekend, and the few days before came rushing back to him with startling clarity. He remembered his counterpart and his frustrating unwillingness to meet. He remembered overhearing his parents and the Prophecy. And he remembered running and Tom…

So when Harry opened his eyes, his body then fully suspended upright in the air, he had a good idea of just who he would see.

Lord Voldemort.

And he was right. Harry had never seen the man before, not even in pictures, but it wasn’t necessary. The crimson eyes were a dead give away.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort murmured. He gripped Harry’s chin and examined his face. “You were a barely a fly worth swatting, but my, have you managed to become interesting.”

Harry swallowed.  He was terrified, of course he was, but finally meeting his enemy felt more surreal than anything else. Voldemort had always lived in the stories of the older generation of the Order…

Not in Harry’s…

He didn’t know if he was ready for this…

Desperate, he tried to remember Moody’s advice to him when he had become an Order member if he ever were to get caught… It had mostly consisted of mantras of, “stay calm,” and “don’t get caught in the first place,” which weren’t particularly helpful to him given his current situation, but he also vaguely remembered Moody going on about being aware of his surroundings and using them to his advantage…

He tore his gaze away from Voldemort and looked around as best as he could. To his surprise, he seemed to be in a dimly lit sitting room.  The room’s main source of light came from a wide fireplace to Harry’s right and near it, sat Tom, Harry’s capturer. He was in a high-backed armchair with an unreadable expression on his face…

Then Harry did a double-take because the resemblance between Tom and his father was both strange and uncanny. Tom was merely a younger—warmer version of his father. His skin wasn’t as pale or smooth, his eyes weren’t red, but the resemblance was unmistakable…Harry had spent his whole life hearing how much he looked like own his father, but it was nothing compared to this…

The grip on Harry’s chin tightened. “Tell me,” Voldemort continued smoothly. “How is that dear mother of yours doing?”

Harry glared, his attention now solely on Voldemort, all thoughts of uncanny resemblances and surroundings forgotten.

“She can’t hide forever, you know.”

“Don’t you _touch_ her,” Harry growled.

Voldemort tsked as he released Harry’s chin. “That won’t be necessary, I’m afraid. You should see the list of volunteers.”

“You will _never_ find her,” Harry spat. He wanted to hit and throttle and punch, but his hands were bound behind his back. “Do you hear me? _Never_.”

Voldemort grinned then. His smooth features were eerie in the room’s glow. “Oh how I’ve missed this,” he said to Tom over his shoulder. “These Order members have always been so easy to rile up.”

Tom smiled briefly before taking a sip of the drink he had been holding loosely in one hand. “So you’ve told me.”

“However,” Voldemort said, bringing his attention back to Harry. “You shouldn’t waste your energy worrying about your mother, Harry. Not when she’s safe and you’re here with me.”

“What do you want from me,” Harry said low.

And yet, Harry already knew. His counterpart had warned him, after all…

“Draco Malfoy,” Voldemort replied. “His own mother saw you grab him and Apparate away from Diagon Alley on Friday afternoon.  I want you to explain why.”

Harry steadied himself. This was one lie he had prepared during his sleepless nights after receiving his counterpart’s warning. Despite being terrified, he was ready.

“There’s not much to explain,” Harry begun. “That wasn’t Draco Malfoy. It was an Order spy. Dumbledore never informed me of the purpose of the mission. I was only tasked to bring my fellow Order member to safety when it was clear he was being followed.”

Voldemort studied him before speaking again.  “Lucius will be pleased to hear he was correct.”

Harry nodded once, not daring his luck.

“You see,” Voldemort continued, “the real Draco Malfoy was in France on Friday.”

Harry nodded again. He had already known this fact.

“In fact, he had been in France for several days, so you can imagine Mrs. Malfoy’s surprise when he unexpectedly…showed up on Thursday.  She was delighted, of course, but it was short lived because she quickly realized that it wasn’t actually her son. This worried her, but more so, it perplexed her because there are dozens of wards surrounding Malfoy Manor protecting against unwanted intruders—including Order spies.”

Harry swallowed, dread creeping up his spine.

“She notified Lucius immediately and in turn he notified me. I instructed them to not give themselves away and to gather more information. Mrs. Malfoy kept a close watch on the young man and placed a Tracking charm on him. When he left the Manor on Friday, she followed him, only to watch you snatch him away.”

Harry stared at Voldemort and against his better judgment, he spoke. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to understand how much I value Mrs. Malfoy’s opinion on this matter. She spent the most time with this young man, after all. And while your presence in this mystery solidified Lucius’ belief that this man was a spy despite the Manor’s numerous wards, Mrs. Malfoy did not share this opinion.”  Voldemort leaned forward then and dropped his voice to a whisper. “And nor do I,” he said into Harry’s ear.

Harry jerked his head away. “I already told you what I know.”

“You and I both know there is more to this story,” he responded, leaning back. He then gripped Harry’s chin again, forcing Harry to meet his cold gaze. “Who was the girl?”

Harry tried to turn his head away, but Voldemort’s grip only tightened.

“And why would Dumbledore waste his time and resources spying on such a minor player?”

“I told you,” Harry bit out. “I was never told the purpose of the mission. I was only following orders.”

Voldemort let out a laugh. “That old fool must love you.”

“And like your followers are any different,” Harry snapped back.

Voldemort smiled, amused. “You’re right,” he said, nodding once. “And yet, unlike you,” he added, his smile growing feral, “my followers know how to _lie_.”

And before Harry could retort, the most excruciating pain he had ever felt ripped through his mind. Images of memories raced before his eyes before being quickly discarded, both by himself trying fruitlessly to protect his mind and by Voldemort who had deemed them worthless.

Sitting with Neville at the Tickled Toad.

Flying with his brother, Jude.

Lying in bed, perfecting his lie.

Each memory tossed away caused Harry more and more pain. He cried out after what felt like only seconds.

“Show me,” Voldemort hissed in the periphery. “Show me what I want to know.”

Harry cried out again as another sharp jab of pain shattered the front of his mind. He felt his resolve slip. Dread and panic now dominated every nerve in his body as he realized he couldn’t do what he needed to do…

“No you can’t,” Voldemort murmured, whether out loud or in Harry’s mind, Harry didn’t know. “But you can end the pain. Just show me.”

Then another memory surfaced.  He was standing with Dorcas in her flat, watching Diagon Alley below…

_‘What is he doing back already?’_ Dorcas was muttering.

_‘Who?’_ Harry watched himself ask.

_‘Malfoy! There! At Fortescue’s. He’s not supposed to come back from France until tomorrow morning. How is he here?’_

“No!” Harry cried out, vanishing away the memory, but it was too late. He could feel Voldemort’s glee through their connection.

“That’s it, Harry,” Voldemort encouraged. “I already knew he wasn’t a spy. Now just show me the rest…”

“Dorcas…” Harry panted. “She wasn’t aware… of the mission…”

There was a burst of red light then and instant debilitating pain. Every nerve ending in Harry’s body was screaming for death. When it ended moments later, Harry could feel a tear running down his face.

“I am a patient man,” Voldemort said coldly, “but I do not tolerate being lied to.  I have all night, but it’s up to you whether or not you spend it in pain.”

Harry couldn’t help it, he let out a choked sort of sob and then another memory of Dorcas surfaced.

_‘Quit complaining. I don’t care how you feel about Occulmency, if you want to play a role in this war you need to learn it. You do not want to be the one who gives away our plans to the other side…”_

Harry’s nerves were still on fire and he could still feel Voldemort’s presence on the outskirts of his mind, but he let Dorcas’ words wash over him…

She had been right…

And currently, failing meant so much more than revealing plans or even Malfoy’s true identity…Failing meant revealing his counterpart—failing meant letting this world down…

_Again_.

Harry knew too much.  He knew about the Prophecy and what his counterpart had done—what he himself could have been capable of, destroying the very man in front of him.  Despite being beyond frustrated with his counterpart, Harry had to protect his presence at all cost…

It didn’t matter that his counterpart had expressed no interest in helping this world…Harry could only hope he was going to change his mind…why else would he have been brought here?…And Harry hated thinking this, he really did, but it was also obvious to him that this world’s Prophecy was far beyond the point of coming true…

Harry knew—he felt it with every fiber of his being—that if there was any hope for this world, it was his counterpart and that he, Harry had to keep him a secret.

The question was, how? He knew he couldn’t completely close his mind—he’d always been rubbish at it—so instead he flooded it with memories, hoping to drown Voldemort out.  He thought of Quidditch and work and his days back at school…

Unfortunately, Voldemort seemed undisturbed by the onslaught. He hummed and stood among Harry’s memories, watching them swirl around him…

“You’ve led a good life, Harry,” he said, eyeing a particular memory of Harry and Sirius with interest. “There’s no denying that. And you’ve continued to lead this life despite me being in power for the last several years now. And yet, you still choose to defy me. Why?”

Unable to help it, images of his mother bloomed inside of Harry’s mind. She was smiling and laughing and yelling at him to be nicer to Jude…

“Yes, of course, your mother, but is she the only reason you fight? Surely there is a better reason.”

Harry gasped as another wave of pain coursed through him. “She’s my _mother_.”

“But don’t you see? If she is the only reason you fight then a deal can be made.”

Shivering, Harry opened his eyes. Voldemort smiled encouragingly.

“You’re not a fighter, Harry. That much is obvious from your memories, but what choice did you have with your parents being who they are…”

Harry cinched his eyes shut, ashamed of being so obvious…

“Don’t worry. You’re not the only one I’ve wondered about. Your father and his friends—

Harry shook his head. “My father hates you.”

“Your father comes from a once prominent pure-blood family and your grandparents’ feelings toward me were neutral at best. He may hate me, but I still question his motives.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He desperately wanted to, but he couldn’t. His father had always said his mother had made him into the man he was today…

“Your mother, Harry, is an exception. Surely you must see this by now. If muggleborns were meant to be a part of our world then they wouldn’t have been wiped out so easily. Your mother, however, has proven herself. She is powerful despite her lineage and if you cooperate—if you tell me what I want to know, I am willing to look the other way. I am willing to spare her.”

Hearing the words—imagining his mum’s freedom—made temptation roll through Harry. The temptation made his resolve slip and his flood of memories began to thin…

Then there was his mother, elated and wild, gesturing widely in the sitting room of Harry’s safe house…

Gesturing towards Malfoy and Lovegood…

“No,” Harry said desperately, realizing what was about to happen—realizing what Voldemort had just manipulated him into doing… “NO!”

But it was too late. His mother had already spoken before Harry could whisk her away…

_“Don’t you see?! These two are from another world!”_

And for the next several moments, Harry could only hear the sound of his own heavy breathing. His mind felt numb and empty—his desperation finally succeeding in pushing Voldemort out.

“What is it?” Tom asked and Harry could hear his approach, his curiosity had been piqued. “What did you find out?”

“Something…unexpected,” Voldemort replied slowly. “It appears that was indeed no Order spy, but rather a Draco Malfoy from another world. As was the young woman we have yet to identify.”

Harry kept his eyes shut. He had failed.

“And you believe this?” Tom said.

“Yes. You should have felt how forcefully he just pushed me from his mind.”

“That only means he believes it.”

“And Dumbledore,” Voldemort responded softly. “Isn’t that right, Harry?”

Harry didn’t say anything, but his silence seemed answer enough.

“We need to speak with Rookwood. Tonight,” Voldemort continued. “I need to understand how this could have happened.”

“Rookwood can wait,” Tom replied. “We have all the answers we need right in front of us. Why else would he bother protecting the identities of a Draco Malfoy and a strange woman from another world?”

Harry shook his head even though he knew it was fruitless. He then felt a hand grip his chin, but it was different than before. It was surprisingly cold. It belonged to Tom.

“You were a mess when I found you,” Tom said, looking Harry in the eye. “I didn’t think much of it before, but now I have to wonder if it had something to do with this.”

Harry shook his head minutely. “It didn’t.”

Tom’s dark eyes narrowed. Then Harry felt the tip of a wand dig into his chest. “I suggest you remember what we said. We have all night and we do not tolerate lies.”

Harry let out a small breathless laugh then because the irony was, he _hadn’t_ been lying. Not really.

Learning of Malfoy’s and Lovegood’s identities—or hell, even of his own counterpart’s identity—had hardly been the reason he’d ended up trapped in that bathroom of The Tickled Toad…

The reasoning behind _that_ had been far more upsetting…

And that’s when he realized he hadn’t completely failed—not yet. There was still hope.

“You may have pushed me out,” Voldemort said smoothly. He had left his position behind Tom and was now slowly circling around Harry. “But your mind and defenses are growing weaker. It’s only a matter of time before I gain entrance again. Your secrets will be mine and I don’t care if I have to tear your mind to shreds to get them. Now ask yourself, Harry, is protecting two people who aren’t even from our world really worth loosing your mind and sanity over?”

Fear now seemed to consume every ounce of Harry’s body. He could feel it so acutely. It gripped his heart and made his skin itch—almost as if it were trying to free itself of Harry himself.

And yet…

Voldemort’s threat hadn’t brought on this fear.  Instead, with the realization that he hadn’t completely failed came the realization of what he must do…

Because Voldemort was right…Harry was weak…it was only a matter of time…

But if Harry did this right, then there was still hope of protecting his counterpart…

There was still hope of saving this world…

“You’re right,” Harry said, pushing away the fear. “It isn’t, especially because it doesn’t matter anyway. It was never going to happen here.”

Tom’s dark eyes narrowed again. He then exchanged a look with Voldemort who had stopped somewhere behind Harry’s right shoulder. “Explain,” Tom said.

“A few days ago,” Harry began hoarsely, “I received a letter from Draco Malfoy requesting that I meet with him. I was, what I hope is understandably, confused.”

Tom inclined his head, encouraging him to continue.

“I met with him—with back-up, of course. But Malfoy, he was—confused himself…desperate. I didn’t understand. Then the girl showed up. I panicked and took them to my safe-house.”

“And there your mother identified them as being from another world,” Voldemort finished, returning to where Harry could see him. “But why?”

“This other Malfoy—he was a Death Eater in his world as well, but it was different—our interrogation set him off. He began wigging out. And the girl—she already knew. It was easier for her, you see, she…she’s a muggleborn who never made it into the magical community here—Lisa something-or-other—and she helped Malfoy figured it out. And as he figured it out so did my mum.”

He was rambling. Harry knew he was—he always did when he was lying. And yet, Voldemort didn’t seem to have noticed, instead, he had focused on one small detail.

“Was a Death Eater? One does not leave my ranks. Not in this world, nor in the next.”

Seizing his chance and his courage, Harry looked straight into Voldemort’s eyes. “They do if you’re dead.”

Voldemort’s nostrils flared. Harry should’ve been scared, but he was feeling braver and braver as each second passed.

“Impossible,” Voldemort spat.

Harry shook his head. “Even you can die.”

“Lies,” Voldemort continued to spit. “I have taken precautions—assurances—“

“Ones that did not matter in this other world,” Harry said harshly. “You’re gone! And _I_ was the one who killed you.”

Voldemort took a step back, stunned. He was looking at Harry in a new light. The room was silent until Tom let out a laugh.

“You? You—an ordinary wizard—defeat the greatest sorcerer in history?” Tom pointed his wand at Harry. “We don’t have to listen to this. Desperate men, after all, say desperate things.”

Harry ignored Tom. He was still watching Voldemort whose red eyes had never left him. “Draco Malfoy came to me because in his world we’re friends. Can you imagine?” Harry said. “A Death Eater friends with a blood-traitor and a Muggle-born? But it’s true. He told me so right after he explained I was the one responsible for your downfall. He came to me because he trusted me. He came to me because he thought I could fix things.”

Harry, of course, didn’t know if this was entirely true, but he wanted it to be true so it was enough. Voldemort looked fascinated.

“Lies,” Tom seethed. “Do not listen to him!”

“But you believe me,” Harry said to Voldemort. “You know there is someone out there who could destroy you because a long time ago, a Prophecy was made.”

“You?” Voldemort whispered.

“Me,” Harry said. Then he pushed his memory of overhearing his father telling his mother the Prophecy into Voldemort’s mind for good measure, careful to leave out the bits about Neville. Voldemort’s eyes widened.

“Of course,” Voldemort murmured. “Your father—he destroyed the Hall of Prophecies not to protect the contents of the Prophecy, but to protect his own son. How could I not see this? Love…it makes us foolish—desperate…”

“And desperate men,” Harry said, glancing at Tom, “do desperate things.”

Tom sneered. “Why even tell us this? You’re defenseless, bound, and at our mercy. You are weak and unable to destroy a house-elf, let alone Lord Voldemort.”

Harry let out a dry laugh. “Because don’t you see? The Prophecy might not have come true here, but in this other world it did. And if I, an _ordinary_ wizard managed to defeat you then some other _ordinary_ wizard can manage it here!” Tom glared and pointed his wand directly at Harry’s heart. “Go on then,” Harry spat. “Kill me. But at least I’ll die knowing you are no more powerful than me. You will be stopped.”

Tom’s mouth twitched, but then Voldemort said, “Kill you? You will not die tonight, Harry Potter.”

Harry looked back to Voldemort. His features had been recomposed into a cool mask, but his eyes were roving over Harry hungrily and Harry felt his courage leave him.

“Fate has brought you to me,” Voldemort said, “and despite what you say, you are no ordinary wizard.”

“I…I am,” Harry tried.

“No,” Voldemort returned. “Dumbledore has been failing to kill me for years. There is something about you…and once you are gone…” He smiled widely and turned to Tom. “Can’t you see how perfect this is?”

Tom did not seem pleased, but he gave a curt nod anyway before sitting in the same chair he had occupied earlier.

“What’s perfect?” Harry asked. He couldn’t help himself.

“Not only were you destined to defeat me,” Voldemort replied, “but you also have the power I’ve been searching for.”

“I told you,” Harry said. “I’m—“

“Silence!” Voldemort ordered with a wave of his hand and Harry felt his voice leave him. “I know what I am saying. I’ve been searching for a witch or wizard with immense magical power for years and it is the real reason you are here.  Your involvement in this Draco Malfoy business was merely an added benefit for bringing you in.”

Harry didn’t think he would be able to speak even if he could. His heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. He knew what was coming.

“My search ended Thursday when I heard news of your Patronus. I traveled to Ottery St. Catchpole myself and secured a memory of you casting it from a Muggle before killing her. Did you know she was watching you when you cast it?” Harry shook his head, horrified. “Then I watched the memory, fascinated.” And as he said it, he pushed the Muggle’s memory into his mind and Harry saw his counterpart, confident, bellowing out the spell and an enormous stag erupting from the end of his wand—it was so solid it looked like a galloping statue rather than the wisps and smoke Harry often produced. Then his counterpart smiled and Harry could see why Voldemort was so fascinated. His counterpart was watching his Patronus fondly, like he was seeing an old friend—a friend he had seen many times before—like it was nothing to produce such a powerful charm…And Harry couldn’t help it, his heart burned with jealousy as the memory faded. “What you can’t see in that memory,” Voldemort continued, “though I assure you, I collected more, is your Patronus rounding up the Dementors with ease, pushing them through the countryside, collecting another horde two towns over, and then forcing them all back to the seas of Azkaban. And that Harry is power. Do you deny it?”

Harry wanted to, but he couldn’t, not without revealing his counterpart. He shook his head.

“It is this power I seek. Nearly anyone can cast a Killing Curse, but few can wield Fiendfyre and live to cast another spell—you have that potential, Harry Potter.” Harry swallowed as Voldemort moved closer and leaned in to whisper into his ear again. “You may have killed me in this other world, but in this one, you will help me conquer it.”

Harry didn’t remember getting hit by another Stunner, but when he woke up next, he was no longer in that dimly lit sitting room. He was alone in what appeared to be a locked cell. The only light came from a single torch on the other side of the barred door.

Harry groaned. He had been so certain he would be killed, but now…Harry shuddered to think what was going to happen. He hadn’t been the one to cast that Patronus—far from it—and what would happen when Voldemort figured that out…?

_‘He’ll kill me. He’ll kill me and go after him instead.’_

Harry shuddered again because a selfish part of him wanted his counterpart to stay hidden. If he was hidden, then Harry would be safe…it would buy him time—or the Order—or someone to save him from whatever fate awaited him…

And yet…one could not save the world from the shadows…

The best Harry could hope for was that he had bought his counterpart some time before Voldemort went looking for him…

“You’re awake.”

Harry jumped. He had been too lost in his thoughts to notice a man now standing in the doorway watching him through the bars. His face was obscured by a hood.

“Who are you?” Harry croaked.

“Who I am is of little consequence. I’m merely tasked to ensure you stay alive until the Dark Lord is ready for you.”

Harry laughed weakly. “Lucky you.”

The man ignored him. “You are to drink the contents of that cup.” He pointed to the far corner of the cell and on a small wooden table sat a small two handled cup. When the flickers of torch light reached out to it, there was a gleam of gold.

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying to stand, but his legs didn’t seem to want to hold him up just yet. He settled for leaning against the wall. “I think I’ll pass.”

“I assure you. If the Dark Lord wanted you dead, poison would not be his method of choice.”

“Poison is the least of my worries,” Harry muttered.

“It is a Vitality Potion,” the man said, growing impatient. “See for yourself. Surely even the lowliest of Order members can identify it.”

The man flicked his wand and the cup floated over to Harry and landed near his left hand. Harry didn’t touch the cup, but now that it was closer he could see some sort of ornate animal engraved on its side. Inside of it was a clear ruby red liquid—the exact same color of his mother’s Vitality Potion.

Harry bit his lip, tempted. Vitality Potion was a finicky potion—in fact, the Potioneer who created it a few hundred years before made it purposely finicky. Nothing extra could be added without the potion during a nasty shade of green. Nor could it be brewed or served in anything other than gold. The Potioneer did this purposely so people in need of it could drink it without worry of ill-intentions. Harry had always thought the bloke overtly paranoid, but now…

Now Harry’s throat was dry…his legs didn’t seem to want to work…his head throbbed…

_‘No,’_ Harry thought to himself. _‘Don’t even think about it.’_ He pushed the cup away and closed his eyes.

“Fool,” the man spat. “You are just as tiresome as your father.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Then there was a growl, a swish of a wand, and, “ _Imperio._ ” And then Harry’s mind was floating away, it was blissfully pain-free…

_You are weak. Drink from the cup._

No…he didn’t want to…

_Drink from the cup._

No…but then, why not? Harry couldn’t remember…

_Drink from the cup._

It was simple really, drinking from a cup…and he was so very thirsty…what harm could it do…

_Drink!_

And then Harry did and it felt so wonderful going down. He tipped the cup up and drained it in just another gulp more.

Then there was another swish of the man’s wand and Harry found himself staring at the bottom of the cup, shame now accompanying the blessed relief coursing through his body…

“Don’t make me do that again.”

Harry didn’t say anything, he just continued to stare at the bottom of the cup and as he watched, it filled itself back to its brim, ready to be drunk from once more.


End file.
